Old Silver

      – to Pat

Buffing the cherry wood, old silver,

pitted hopes, stitching hints of you into

pillow, duvet as agate skies howl,

always you have looked at me with love,

and practiced for my sake your beauty—

shy, yearbook smile revisiting

chestnut eyes when we return to the flesh

for a time ignoring the soul wrinkles.

How gracefully you greet time's

non-ovations which come like vagrants to feed

in our commitment of days,

your style ever steady against the years.

Moore Moran

From Firebreaks, Salmon Run Press, © 1999.
Reprinted by permission of the author.