A Rethinking

Resting in the tabernacle,
the curtain sewn back up,
unseen drinks being swilled
in dubious relics,
a stemmed cup for each:

Let no thought of warring
or strife affect you, you

who crowd me daily,
and linger here on a night
where we walk umbrellaed
and over-shadowed through
these tunnels of streetlights

before your turned profile alights
and (with a gorgeously awkward
yank) enters into a restaurant.
You tip-toe around scattered rolls
and baked meats, a singer unharmed

by this now nightly routine.
You sing the passer-bys, you
sing me and fix my head
so as to make cartoonish
my yet unbroken stride.

Like you, all the figures stray
and pause, looking with sure features
at me and the pasts they know
I conjure and slip like an offering
into notebooks and pillows.