I like to see you
in all lights.
The dim of our bedroom
when one of the cats
has woken us up at three a.m.,
bright supermarket fluorescence,
unforgiving and illuminating.
Daylight, so rare for us both
to have the time and inclination,
especially if it’s not for a funeral
or other obligatory outing
that leaves us squinting into our coffees.
Dark bars punctuated by the flash
of cameras that you hate,
sometimes mine, capturing you
like an insect under glass.
Under streetlights in a blizzard
as you trudged to meet me after I left work,
your face the warmest thing for miles.
I’ve studied your face so well,
under all conditions,
that I think I could find it anywhere, if I had to.
I’ve never believed in true love,
and I remain agnostic about reincarnation,
but even then I think I could find you,
if we were separated by dimensions.
Thank goodness that I don’t have to.