I've been trying to decide if you would think
less of me for drinking
my tea through the plastic stirrer
instead of from the lip of the white china cup.
Eye contact is hard,
I know, because
I've changed
more than I thought I would
before this was arranged and
though my irises are the same
the rest is
not so much. Would you believe me
if I said I did not know how that happened?
That I don't remember
what I did
to bring my body from where it was,
where it fell and rose and knit again,
to this table, to this minute
to slouch and stir and mull,
but nonetheless mull, and stir, and slouch
back to back with you
pointing at clouds and seeing
rabbits and birds and witches under the being sun
and beaming some, just to be
collected enough to be seen.
