In time, even statues fall in love.
Standing and gazing long beside each other,
you share air, sounds, space and time.
You soften. Fingers merge with hair and
gallery closed, hard edges become soft flesh.
Our first date was forty-four years ago.
At a park after dinner, you said
“The geese are all laughing at us.”
We were young. Unsure. Cautious. We laughed.
Our soft conspiracy continues into tonight’s starlight.
I read that Zelda Sayre went on her first date with F. Scott Fitzgerald on her birthday, July 24, 1918, and years later, in a letter to Scott, she wrote: “The night you gave me my birthday party … you were a young Lieutenant and I was a fragrant phantom, wasn’t I? And it was a radiant night, a night of soft conspiracy and the trees agreed that it was all going to be for the best.”