Because it snowed today while I walked across our bridge,
I thought of our winter and meeting in the middle on long nights
I’d brush my teeth and climb the fence;
you’d take out your earrings and your hairband.
(The year you learned that ‘proper’ was a muzzle.)
Our meeting in the middle of something was meeting on the outside of something else.
I wish I could tell our families and that ashamed heart
– the heart that somehow pumps your radical blood–
that to know you is to love you,
and every kind of lonely I’ve ever felt to get to do that
ran under the bridge where we stood.