Connections

Connections

The neighbor with the silver-eyed cat
lays out a blanket on the lawn
each warm, clear night at eleven
upon which he and kitty loll and star-gaze,
their conversations carrying to us
as we lie in our ice blue sheets.

Neighbors, like family, are not the ones
we choose to love or even like
but the ones we cleave to,
measure ourselves against,
often unwittingly, unwisely.

On the night of our anniversary
we made a fire in the backyard
though the air was hot and humid
and brought the jug out, set it between us

and did not talk, did not speak a word
so that we could hear their voices,
feel their intimacy, their bond,
like the invisible lines that create constellations,
the night sky pageant made whole.