For a Moment

And finally, I pause for a moment to let myself remember.

Dust falls, quiet, gathers like that snapshot of the city from our hill last June;
I count a broken strand of beads,
An empty mug of black tea shared across a cold table,
A line of tire-tracks bearing no suggestion of red paint.

Thoughts fall, logic dissipates, until I am left with the sound of your singing
Not an Italian aria or a French art song, not even an Irish folk melody,
But a riff on the radio, a recollection.

The words are insignificant, as are the notes, lost to time and temper,
But, for a moment, I close my eyes and drink in the undiluted tone–
Sweeping spectrums of shapes, colors,
Entire dimensions soaring out over the windshield and into the night.

Crude, whole, and unbearably rich
Just like the weight of your body
In the shutter-lined yellow light of a July afternoon
As you pause to brush a piece of blue cloth from my hair.

And now, for just a moment, I let myself feel.