lin is playing the child's game 

though she is no child   of pirouetting

with her shadow   taking delight in it and herself

passing clouds changing the tempo

it is lovely to watch

as we walk through the park

~

she is full of wonder   fully engaged

asking questions   making sense of her world

taking on more and more   

willing to try personas   as we all do   

which suit the moment   

the occasion

~

the pirouettes give way to conversation

we are not alone    but alone

within ourselves as we walk   

clouds and changing light

subtly direct our words

taking us nowhere and everywhere

~

she reminds me of a young marketa

she reminds of myself

that evening

she asks about the two of us   

how we came together 

i show her an old poem

   we put the mattress 

   before the fire  

   slept in the living room

   that chill damp night 

   outside 

   oregon drizzled away winter 

   i love you 

   for sleeping with me

   that night

   and every night since 

   you may not understand 

   why i shiver

   but you take me   and say

   it's all right  

lin reads the poem

asks if i embellished the story   

romanticized it   as i remember   

it played out just that way

and here we are   a decade on

our instincts seemingly proven sound 

~

as i reread the poem

it does seem antiquated

i envision it in black and white

on the small screen

except for the fire 

which is vivid   

~

i know lin is less interested in coupling

than in finding a way

to sustain herself   her way of life   

whatever that may come to be   it is a vision

of self-reliance which I admire   rendering the poem

one of dependency   which i question