Precious

These are moments that you treas­ure, just sit­ting of a sunset,
Shoulder to shoulder as you remin­isce. And whether it’s
Those memor­ies of women’s decisions, the baby borne or the
Jour­ney halted, the intimacies and the viol­a­tions, or whether
It’s gasp­ing hys­ter­ics trying to catch a breath as you struggle
To form words after too much wine, or whether it’s weaving
Tales of space adven­ture fair­ies and their lib­rar­ian friends
Or just weav­ing, fin­gers deftly moving in and out of weft…
Silence then hum­ming that builds into song and foot tapping
Nerves and hes­it­a­tion, con­fess­ing some­thing new, gentle touch.
But the sunset is glor­i­ous and the night is long and these moments
Are fleet­ing in the midst of a life, as you touch gently, look up
At the same moment, gaze in the same dir­ec­tion, side by side,
Smile softly, remem­ber to stop and take it in, the sunset, the light,
The fading light, the vibrant col­ours, flame-red and copper, bright honey
Try to lock in the warmth on your skin and the hint of music
And in the end, a friend.