Never Say I Love You

I love waking up in bare, moonlit rooms
With wide open blinds and pallid shadows.

I love the hinges, the pausing moments
Between what has to be done and what is.

I love that a small phrase can be well-worn
As the feet of a stone shrine and still live.

I love that it is enough that these things
Really exist insofar as they do

And that I’ll never know how far that is
Or whether a moonlit room, its shadows,

The outline of a black cat against them,
The presence or absence of the curved world

Of someone’s dreaming head on my shoulder
Also, absolutely, exist, that is.