I wish I had a gift
to write something perfectly bland
ninety percent of its meaning
hidden, except to you.
Yesterday's breakfast, leftover panini,
with egg transformed to croque madame.
I admired an Ionic column
at the Met
and a still life - mostly peaches.
Bergdorf a bust
I gave to the urge to go to Saks
and was glad I did.
This morning snow falling on cedars
settles on your soft brown beard
and perfume still lingers on my wrist.
Drive ever northward vanished enveloping road
Volumes in initials.