I slither through the dense crowd

Among a wave of chestnut brown

And the room is suddenly silver

At the sight of his salt and pepper

Emulsifying the gold glow that

Leaps off these young bodies

That subtle gleaming shine that

One day just stops

Like the brightness of an old sweater

Or the gloss of leather shoes

Our eyes meet, nod to

Divorce and the slow sag of our bodies

And among these green fleshy buds we are

The groaning oak trees, thick with

Rings and years and grooves

Feeling the rustle of every leaf

Casting long shadows and a cool spot

For the young ones to lie in