Last thing I thought I wantedin lifeinvite the adolescent to tea,
who knewwhat was trueand anything else wouldn’t do,
who’d sit with hera minute more than thecalendrical reality,
yet now will I pause and beckonwith a little twitch of the shoulderyou don’t want to beckon too broadly,
the very weakness of gestureyou may trace to the cool requiredbalanced by warm desire,
I do not think of her muchI’m almost unable to think of hera curtain drops in front of her if she is anywhere near,
yet I beckon with that one shoulderand in so doing she tends to flickerin my own person,
and then I don’t think that I comeas such a surprise to her,
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