I've been writing this letter
in my head for the last 8 weeks
to put everything right
that's gone south between us and
I want to lead in to it
in the space between empty plates and
the check,
but I cannot help
humoring you
and your stupid enthusiasm
because I cannot remember
the last time I caught fireflies
in a dead aired August night and
laughed and laughed
because tomorrow was wide open and
today's end was a hiccup
in the fabric of a summer without and
the fact of something so readily seen
blanketed everything not with an ease
that defied the years
between what was felt and
what was yet to be known.
