To Paola, August 1988
Let me spread the rug before the crackling fire
So that we may sit side by side, as before,
And gaze at the flames straining ever higher
As they sketch our silhouettes upon the floor.
Your cheeks are glowing; your eyes are brighter still,
And so are mine, unless I’m much mistaken.
Without, a raging storm; the dark; the autumn chill;
Within, an orb of heat and light that we partake in.
Let the fire be the only one to speak.
Leave the shadows skulking at the corners of the room.
It is not the silence that will make us weak,
But words that venture past our lips too soon.
When last we met, our faces were so smooth,
Few roads were yet engraved upon that map.
Now that we’ve labored away from our youth,
I hope we’ll find a way to bridge the gap.