| I saw her in a dream |
| Exiting the bookstore lobby |
| Sitting on a bench on Baltimore and reading Murakami |
| Slipping salt beneath the sun |
| Her hands now tying up her hair |
| One pair of deeply tinted shades reflects my unbelieving stare |
| And at once |
| I am taken |
| She asked me what I wanted |
| As if one ever really knew |
| And I said, «Dull domestication, free from pressure to pursue |
| Another love, another touch, another tired conversation» |
| And then she shut her novel sharply |
| And proposed a new location |
| And at once |
| I obliged |
| Details for a new protest |
| Adorn white printer paper flyers |
| She says, «I feel so old admitting counter-culture makes me tired» |
| She leads me into the café |
| Her intention is exact |
| It is 104 degrees |
| She takes her coffee hot and black |
| And at once |
| I am entranced |
| She suggests we settle down |
| Meaning, settle down for good |
| She knows the perfect place on Martha Street |
| In her old neighborhood |
| And then a taxi sounds a horn |
| And it is full of all our things |
| And it is parked outside the café |
| And the driver sounds incredibly |
| Impatient |
| When we merge onto the freeway |
| She rolls her window down completely |
| The driver dials into a station |
| And then she smiles at me discreetly |
| She says, «I love this song» |
| Then turns away and tracks the clouds |
| The driver curses with conviction |
| While «Heavy Metal Drummer» plays us out |