Of the last night I saw you,
All covered in deadweight gold
And tarnished by its light.
You stood at the window,An angel with burnt wings
And a soul tired of dancing.
"It's never easy backing out," you said.
"I know," I replied,Our backs facing each other
And the voice not quite my own.
"Sometimes it isn't what we imagine."
You breathed against the windowAnd made a heart with your fingertip.
I closed my eyes
And put my forehead to the door.
When moonlight fell across the bedYou turned to me and said, "Paris, we
Should've gone to Paris. They have stars
And paintings, all the romance you can take."
I fumbled for my keys and opened the door.
"And broken hearts," I said.Plenty of broken hearts.
(From the book Selected Poems 2004-2007)