No Need to See You

for Michael


How many lifetimes have I listened
to the waterfalls of your voice, the waltz
of your laugh? The meter of your steps, measured
and sure, the sigh of your breath, the sweet
slam of the door when you are coming home.

When it’s you on the line, I know
that draw of your breath before you speak.

With you near, the air turns to cinnamon,
vanilla, willows breathe grass and everything
is suddenly early May.

When you leave, you scatter
the scent of mimosas and rain.
I’m left with the aftertaste
of a fabulous tawny port,
my ears -- they sing!

If I were a blind woman in a crowded room, I would know you.