28. Paula

NOTHING else in this song—only your face.

Nothing else here—only your drinking, night-gray eyes.

The pier runs into the lake straight as a rifle barrel.

I stand on the pier and sing how I know you mornings.

It is not your eyes, your face, I remember.

It is not your dancing, race-horse feet.

It is something else I remember you for on the pier mornings.

Your hands are sweeter than nut-brown bread when you touch me.

Your shoulder brushes my arm—a south-west wind crosses the pier.

I forget your hands and your shoulder and I say again:

Nothing else in this song—only your face.

Nothing else here—only your drinking, night-gray eyes.