The way the sun fell across the floor
and all of our shoes piled by the door,
All these small things

long threads across days
of busyness and sleep
and your hands on my head.

And getting dressed in the evening to walk out
in the summer blowing green,
And your smell (when you are clean.)
and your shuffle, stubbled, wiry look
with night reflecting off your eyes
a strange beast in the streets
Laurier, St.Joseph, Cote Ste Catherine.

The sideways textured light that's happening in trees,
while summer skies rip sunlit holes and
battle defiantly with newly invented greens.

And the frame that our house makes
around this lovely dying fall.
And the blessing that moves me daily;
Sunlight's leafy shadows
blown across the face
of our neighbors' red brick wall.

And your wit with the the squabbling box,
where the framed street life is always again framed
How we are shadows in these currents
on the quilt that is our country.

Our conversations stitch together
other worlds from behind doors

and all of us are always here,
quiet and humming happily
and, on another register,

hungering for more.