Those were the nights when stars offered themselves
for a reasonable price. Without mirrors no one knew
the color of their eyes, and everyone wore sandals.
If there was winter, it came merely to show us
the filigree of snow. For months Gods wrote sestinas,
sipped mead, and didn’t drive. The moon lounged
in an abandoned bus. The truth didn’t fret.
If there was a Devil, he crouched in the reliquary
between what we said and what we meant. Yes,
we were shorter then, and didn’t live long. But that
wasn’t the point. The point was not to be frightened
by the possibilities of joy. Those days you kept
marrying me while eating a peach. Those days
you said yes with your mouth full.
