If I were going to be with someone
I guess I’d be with you.
I’d have to unlearn the ways of solitude, I suppose,
and meld my skin against something
more solid than the steadfast dark.
But to take your small sips of mellow observation-
for that, and other small occasions,
maybe I’d change.
Pulling pants on in the bleak, chill morning,
seeing how your hair settled and arranged
around eyes too old
for a heart-shaped face.
Watching you take it in
the way you must have taken it in at age 5-
thinking, weighing, deciding-
choosing to be silent. Feeling the kindness in that
as I sidle apologetic
through your door.
There’s such a wait in you, such a patience;
such an assured thing, but I feel your delicate,
your parent wisdom
set among bird-feather bones.
I will bring you home flowers
to bemuse you.
We’ll eat soup.
I’ll show you what I’m good at.
In an odd moment
I can let go of who you could have been
and who I could have been,
for in the odd moment
I’d be admiring of
what we seem to be.
what we’d seem to be If I was with you, because
I guess I’d be with you
if I were going to be with someone.