Where You Find It

It was almost spring that night. Balm
and underwind tugging up the hem.

Pavement and its strangers stretching
far around, an ocean of irrelevant eyes

that finally allowed us each
to look, to really see the other.

Thank you for talking me down.
Thank you for coming to me.

A thousand dreams later: You must
stop saying these things to me,

each day a weight I wake to shed.
I carry none with me but one:

If you only look for bits of it
you can find a kind of happiness…

so that by night I’m looking up again
for the bite and shine, some way

to assemble the terrible light as it circles
again too near, so very close to you.