WHEN YOU COME  . . .

. . . you and I will cluster
The way bees keep warm,
With quick, gentle movements.

You will take candles
From your shirt
And we will talk in the small light.

We will speak of old friends
And old times, football games
And dances, ice shows and concerts
In the park,
Long talks by porch light,
On the beach, in the car.

We will pile the meanwhile years
Between us and they will mingle
As tiny golden fish circle
Each other.

You will say what wife you have,
Spell her name in the candlelight.
I will show you snapshots
Of boys and girls
With Disneyland mustaches.

You will bring half a memory
And your half will fit with mine.
We will smooth the torn parts
And make it whole.

			Lucille Murphy