STEREOSCOPY

She takes pleasure in listening to me,

she says, and I conspire with my silence

to confront my own pleasure,

to rob the world of it and put it away

in the safe of that memory of mine:

a little café in clearest distinction

from all its surroundings, finely atmosphered

in its tasteful integrity of time,

our holiest of places for no reason

in my imagination’s fluttering heart.

That way she can’t escape, one way or another.

Either she’s bound in my words

or she’s kept in the breath of my remembrance.