You must believe this coming home
already a gift. The exact hour always
a faint surprise. Our greeting at the gate
one kindness exchanged for another.
The day has been long. Leave it
by the door with your careful shoes.
It is alright for your daily baggage
to slump on lifeless chairs and suffer
the inquisition of cats. The house,
cleaned or uncleaned, a place
we remembered to be happy.
Soon you will start a laundry pile
of still-warm clothing, proffer to air
your bare testimony of skin.
The kitchen perfumes with dinner.
Believe me, this hour is heavy
with musk -- your hands, these morsels,
the music of plates and glasses.
Do you know I sometimes watch you
doing the dishes, the least
poetic of gestures; that when I close
to your side, the room is fuller?
Then even this city need be
nothing more than it is, calm
enough to fill with our own night,
the sky bearing an armful of stars
so many thoughtful roses.