The Moonlight Sonata
coaxes light through the window.
A fire burns, wood you cut last year.
It is a warm glow between us.
We close our eyes.
Once you held my hand like a teacup,
the kind saved for careful company,

I could feel in your arms the
steel bands that hummed
with precision over a vast
network of machinery,
driving one day into the next

The smell of heat hung on you,
white heat, blast furnace heat.
Skin seared to ochre, a badge,
a medallion, a sign of your time.

The heavy scent of oil, grease
and solvents hung around your
shoulders. Shoulders from
where I could see a world
shaped by the will of your vision,
the will of your back.

There is the scent of leather,
smoke and grass, the chair
where I waited while you slept
slumped, heavy breath moist
warm on the back of my neck.

Our eyes open.
You speak.
Your voice is soft and hollow,
a mourning dove’s purr.
All the sadness and regret is in your eyes.

I feel the fire’s warmth again.
Its warm glow between us
as I hold your hand like a teacup,