Portrait of the Love of My Life

A he.

A blond he.

A balding blond

he. Took me

out for walks

pointed to tree bark

and saw something

else said something

else read a book danced

poorly. We were

in a field in the dead

or night with invisible

cows we could hear them 

standing in the dark

munching waiting.

He cupped his

hands began to moo.

I was surprised.

I was embarrassed.

I fell in love.

He broke an ice chunk 

across my legs.

I led him

into a wasp's nest.

He sustained eleven stings.

He said things

we all say when

we aren't thinking.

I threw words

like dishes

watched them shatter

willing the shards

to embed

in his skin.

I was surprised.

I was embarrassed.

I fell in love.

I walked home 

in the dark one

hundred times

and the cold car rattled

carrying our telephone

voices to each other.

Sometimes they didn't make it.

A brown-eyed he.

A white-skinned he.

A narrow-footed 

he. Walked under

my tree.

Waved to me.

We moved away from

one another in 

other ways.

We changed courses.

We made promises

broke those promises

made new promises

decided those promises

were out of fashion.

We grew stubborn

in our commitment.

I saw him the other day

years ago

walking in a red shirt

staring at his shoes

with a pinched

brow and eyes lost

in a tiny universe.

He was 

making his way

toward me 

without knowing it.