Spirit to spirit, let’s meet.
Without the weight of names
or pasts, as light as words
and there, at last, beyond the reach of our country
purposeful in our movements
but slow to complete them,
we repose at a table in a cafe
suffused in gold and yellow
to talk and pass the afternoon
as we have for centuries,
until we feel the waves of ease
lift us from our sleep.
We were meant for this
and given skill to praise,
or to make silence.
You will tell me how beautiful
are the colors of my breathing
and I will note the fine blue silk
woven through your eyes. Last night,
We both had dreams of circles
and saw the future in a glass of water.
You play a trick on your shadow
while I melt into vapor. I rise,
disperse, visible only as light.
Michael Shapiro has been writing poetry since the fourth grade. It has not proved a viable career path, so he moonlights as the editor-in-chief for Hana Hou!, the magazine of Hawaiian Airlines.