This is the name I wrote on the inside

of your book: Maple-Tongue. Or

was it Sage-Brush, Lilac, Potter’s-

Arm? I brushed up on my Italian

and got honest. You spoke fast

and gave me books to read. Inherent

to the body is some degree of wine;

inherent to the wine is a window.

Watch the branches sway past

the window, darling; watch weather

find its penchants, stake its path

and clear out the city, Storm Warning

at five, everything rained on and you

upstairs, amassing the sandbags

of chocolate and old movies, half

at ease, half laughing at the concept

of a wind – as though it would take us,

unnoticed, as though we were not

happy, standing here?