The moonlight dispersed by the curtain—
That’s moonlight! Not the same as realizing
the cell phone tower’s posing as palm;
not the same as that's a cell tower.
Finding the old teacup broken in the bottom
of the box, you know at once what it meant.
(You know you drove home because you are home.
Where have you been? It’s Wednesday already,
Looking at these hands,
seeing also what they were. Remembering her,
decades ago, turning them over in her own,
looking then as mine do now, saying with such
grief, self-pity, “They’re so lovely, your hands.”
My hands. Her hands.)
Finishing the thought,
I see my face in the look you are giving me now
and know I will always know.