I sit in my red chair
under the green lamp
in the yellow room,
surrounded by our mingled lives.
Together we arranged the boxed and bottled things,
at least a hundred dishes, nearly twenty feet of music,
our books intershuffled like aces and hearts.
Your gloves and mine nestle in each other’s palms.
You hear this squeaky drawer, the shower sound,
responding birds our dog’s impatient voice:
you, too, saw the sky through the rafters last fall
when the house was re-roofed.
Each June we are together drenched in honeysuckle
This red chair shares your warmth,
and now your hands and voice heartbeat the yellow room.
Beloved, how good of you to come
to prove by this green light:
no time, no space,
just love assuming shapes.
First published in Whiskey Island Magazine