Michelle McGrane

tonight you glide in

tonight you glide in through the open window
on a cushion of jasmine-fragrant summer air --
and every song playing on the radio

is a love song.

an old ache I'd thought long forgotten
settles around my shoulders:
a silk cape meant only to be worn
on opera outings with the finest jewelry,

or nights of insatiable romance;

the kind where you hang on to every word,
and drown in each others eyes --
you know how it is.

"full moon," I say, "it must be full moon,"
before consulting the lunar calendar. but no,
the moon is waning. there is
no apparent reason for this disquieting visitation.

and so I deal with you
the only way I know how;
the way I have dealt with
a hundred nights of your absence.

I submerge myself in what I do best.

tonight, dear one,
tonight I write for you
a love poem -- because,

because --

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