Arrival

In the moment before you
arrive, a hummingbird lands.

An old man whistles
to no one.

The waitress drops a glass
and I splinter quietly.

Outside, in the cruel morning,
boys place pennies on the tracks.

In the sky,
the sun rings quietly.

I cannot admit, even to myself,
how quickly I have forgotten

the shape of you, of us,
of the line where we meet.

And then you arrive
with your feet wrapped in white

and I smell the smoke
on your hands.