We had a lot to tell each other
after such a long time,
the night fog got brightened by our busy talk
and the candles in the restaurant sparkled,
vowels slid, at ease with the wine,
while we described our projects for the future,
we talked for hours, of everything, even politics,
wanting to be helpful, careful with advice.
Strewing with the night.
We went home then for some menial task
and I felt lightened even while collecting
the rubbish bag.
Walking you back to the bus stop
we felt we had to let something go free,
the dog, who needed her steam off,
she ran straight into a grass field
galloping in circles, in a frenzy
that asked for stars,
watching her we were so electrified
that we almost started to run.
Just before your bus came,
with an exaggerated swing, I hit the bottom
of a huge empty bin with the rubbish bag,
the bag banged loudly, I was sure
it had awakened the stars, some
appeared, actually, behind the fog’s rags
and you too decided it was time
to be exaggerated: “Dear me- you remarked laughing-
where did you throw it? No wonder
things in this country are so bad.”
That’s what beauty is, I thought, after
the measured drops of our voices in the night
we can allow ourselves the luxury
of dashing off with an uncontrolled flourish
sealing up our parting with a further spark
while it finds the lid of the world
and bangs it open.