At the station

At the Station

When the girl got off the train at the college town,

she leapt up and wrapped her legs around the waist

of the boy she’d come to visit, and they spun

around, embracing and shrieking with joy.

Their love set off a piccolo’s vibration.

Those years are gone for us—I see you every day,

we eat meals together from decades-old plates.

But when we lie in bed at night, you take my hand,

and I feel the orb that’s formed around us tighten,

while you and I, like knitting needles in a ball

of yarn, lie beside each other, fingers touching.