"Io Sono Una Bella Luna"
        —after Thomas Hardy's "The Difference"

you said after me, and I translated: "I am a pretty moon."
That was the weekend we bought a dresser made of pine.
Whooshing brakes of buses, sirens, nonstop trucks the tune
to which we woke and slept. Mi casa, su casa. What's mine
is yours, you said in your Third Avenue kitchen. And now,
although we know someday one of us will stare at the moon
alone, and watch the last oak leaves tremble on the bough,
it's with our house, our kids, our life that we sing our tune.

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Copyright © 2019 David Thoreen All rights reserved
from New Letters
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission