Between us, coffee
and the scrim of city air, a cast
off the gleam
of heat, still present.
A poor flower in a plain
vase for me to look at, else.
Then a little talk lifts,
the detail no more etched
than your beautiful stainless
face, and opposite me,
from your place in all this light,
do you become hidden.
from Inside Spiders
Copyright © Persea Books 2013
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.