Catching Up

Two men in the dying light the round table spread out
raw fish kimchee cucumber red pepper pate seeded
baguette slices one sips Malbec the other beer brewed
down the road when they can’t see they begin feeling
amidst the small plates fingertips brush against wasabi
and shoyu looking for the opener till they pick up the table
and everything on it move into the moonlight the single
life waxes one it’s simple uncluttered and anyway could
I live with anyone could anyone live with me by the time
the cats laid out at some distance on the stones become
mere shadows we’re talking about death encountering
the finality of a loved one a wife a mother we talk about
embrace embracing embraced all the variations on
holding out your arms to your neighborhood your hula
halau the wind change planting dancing inside our stories
names places dates distance years time it’s been awhile
since we did this and it’s getting darker some people
call it catching up I see our moonlit faces leave
the angular positions of our bodies there in the chairs
and rise into the night arms outstretched hands ready
to receive illuminations of our days that didn’t spill
into the deep regardless the endless inevitability until
that scent of finality brings us back to clocks and calendars
and we clear the table bring everything we didn’t consume
inside and walk to the car that will take one of us home
the other already home moving along invisible walls
and doorways fingertips wide awake still talking