Visiting the Past, Stealing Nothing

After we kiss good night
I look at my wife and hear
the rustle of a cigarette pack
though she has not smoked
for ten years, the drag of a
matchstick; the sound of her
high heels fading in the hallway
of our first apartment on
Lexington; one leg a quarter
inch shorter than the other;
she stammers slightly when
very tired and she can stay still
for five hours when reading.

She was once unfaithful and
this winter, when the crowd
thinned, we skated slowly
round and round under a globe
of colored glass.


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