by Adam Sifre

The look that warms.

The strange gravity that pulls stray thoughts into tight little orbits,

around memories of you

The wine-tinged evenings and long goodnights.

These things I crave, even when I forget.


Even as I sleep.


The narrow bridge from then to now,

spans a vast abyss of trinkets,

a life nearly choked with consolation prizes.

I sift through them all, searching for gold,

finding moments with you.


These I crave.