Another consequence of the storm:
our neighbors lost two Bradford pears,
trees that often survive just seven years
(life of a marriage these days was the joke),
sending up green, the tear shape
practically begging the wind.
And: for three days you and I have stayed
near each other&8212;in the flickering meals, our talk
feeling again like secret exchange.
Tonight we wait in the city-dark;
a fallen magnolia splits the backyard.
We relax in its branches
as if we’ve climbed, but we’ve earned nothing,
running our hands along its bark
as if discovery will come: precious little,
a dim white flower, a bowl that holds
the strangeness of all I do not know of you.
© 2007 University of North Carolina Greensboro