All of the facts and missed connections
and the open windows keep us safe
from too much cool breeze—we sometimes breathe
intentionally, like accidents
orchestrated for musicality.
Take this sneeze you timed so perfectly
that you were excused at four-thirty
exactly, the moment on the dot,
not passed slightly, but right on—write on,
the ninth hour came so promptly, surely
we have not missed the notes of your smile
and quip of your walk. There’s so much time
to hark back to Beethoven, to talk
of the cordiality of our speech
and our fingers on the point and the
smell of mornings with coffee you brewed.