We share breath
As we swallow
Our Sunday exhalations
And the comic book news we
Spill over coffee
viewing the Sunrise under clouds
that you insist
Are pelicans, when I almost
Certainly would have named them
Jim or Gord
After certain poets I have known,
Not for the shapes we observe
But for the light they hold onto,
The reflection of your eyes in
The wine stem glass
Between thumb and forefinger,
Eyes interlocked as our
little fingers twist
the shape of promise.
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