Here again we are,
another way to be
together where the blinds
mess with night’s street lights
gridded across the ceiling.

Ten years place to place
you’ve followed me; I’ve sensed you
in a jasmine gust from nowhere,
some stranger’s welcome touch, 
a thin voice behind a door. 

Tonight’s cars clock shadows
like gills across the walls,
and there again you are:
the moth clings to the cord, 
blinking high on the sash,

beating time, like lyric.
You have a music’s meaning,
here and gone, gone
but here. Wingéd white thing,
will I see you again?