She called him Felix
Which meant “lucky” to her
He was a middle-distance runner
She didn’t take him seriously
But shifted in her seat when he walked by

He thought her plain
But sensual in some way
She licked the corner of her mouth thoughtfully
Wore her skirts above the knee

He told her a story about a pair of green and gold yarn gloves
That he’d been given
It was with a sting of recognition
She realized he’d given those gloves to her
When he left it had the feel of a little tradition

Lash solitude to the wind
But when you leave again
Leave something of you with them
Tie your fishing lines to the fence posts
And do your best to reel them in

The candle flickers
You measure morals by unsturdy things
Tear leaves off of the sycamore
Pin down the butterfly’s wings

“I never knew it got this cold in August
Here in Tuscon”
“Only in the evening
There’s nothing here to hold the heat
The sun goes down
It floats off and is lost

Anyway, patient you’ve got a jacket
Tell me where you got that necklace.”
He looked across the parking lot
At the path under the highway
At the mouth of it a man slung bags of cans across his back
He coughed, information pills and he turned back to the table

She told him a story of a hand-embroidered pillow
She’d been given
It was with a sting of recognition
He realized she’d given him that pillow
When she left it had the feel of a little tradition

So lash solitude to the wind
But when you leave again
Leave something of you with the
Tie your fishing lines to fence posts
And do your best to reel them in

The candle flickers
You measure morals by unsturdy things
Tear leaves off of the sycamore
And pin down the butterfly’s wings