The Common Man
Spring, and all day today in town I noticed
pregnant women - waxing at different stages
but always that same round belly floating by, like a mote
just beyond focus, something I meant to say- about last night: the presence that eclipsed us both,
that moved out of sight if we looked - what was it we held
as we held each other? When it left
it left me your face: luminous, blindedand I remembered how you put down your fork in the restaurant
and leaning over, murmured in my ear 'I love you for saying
"I hate you for saying that"'
- from our public argument about the common man
when you'd spat out 'Well it ain't Rilke!' -your mouth sad from the side, the way it looked
the night we met, the curve of your forehead
rising above the horizon, legions of deer
leaping to the right across your chest
- I love that sweater, you never wear it anymore.