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The sky is slanted
the sky is soft

it has the patience for us. I am
driving and you are driving and

I have the sweet and sharp taste
of a clementine on my tongue just as you

are towelling off or
threading your belt
through its loops.

The sky is different
every evening
and infinitely patient

for the evening
when you drive
to the house
a small house, an unusual house
a house for after
a house for
what is the story of who lives there
on the river
in the reeds
on the banks
a house of another time
and nothing to do
with anything else
sparsely furnished
and me
already there
to meet you

a light is on. it is evening. you've come
a long way. you pull in.
I don't know
if I'm there or not. I imagine
I am.

I never expect it. I
am not waiting. I simply

make note of
the evening skies.