A pair of earrings, worn before
Dark purplish droplets, dangling long
Like night sky beaded, suspended from her ears
Reaching down towards her neck, the basins of her collarbones…
Nights out —
A ballet performance, Swan Lake;
Left early, or, left before the end.
Droplets sparkling by her face, and perhaps,
The second earring was lost
(Right or left? Identical, who knows.)
Along the route in the sleety snow
Driven through on bikes, and they, misty, pulled up to the restaurant
For grappa and other delectables
Their sparkling laughter to share over glasses at a small café,
And his failure to notice or to speak his observation of
A missing element, an earring lost.
Why were they out, anyway?
They lived so comfortable in their closed quarters,
Among their books and folded linens,
Shared closet, tiny broken keyboard
And big bed sprawling.
She offers him one of her own cigarettes,
Machine-rolled by a silver contraption, and they light theirs.
A faint residue of hash mellows its flavor to a
Baby-sweet sweat taste.
She wears an olive green hoodie,
And her skin is dewy from the misty ride.
They bike home, flying through the cool air,
Red hair and a green sweatshirt whipping,
The traffic lights gleam red yellow and green.