It’s the small conversations I like
where the volumes spoken lie in tone,
and rhythms form unbreakable codes.
We sit at a table, discreetly silent under a green cloth,
lemons and oranges huddle together
in my tear-streaked tea glass
and you send
smoke signals
from your cup.
“This makes sense.”
“Sure.”
“I’d love to.”
and, “Why not?”
The romance of the moment steals our breath.
The romance of small conversations,
about yes and no but more about yes
about the salt of the road and the sound of sea in sea
about days that have not yet arrived
about things remembered so they can be forgotten just as quickly,
about things we will never do and never do come true.
I like these small conversations and I learned their vocabulary
long ago, staying up late with the adults,
in the shadows of their small conversations