Waking up in Stamford, or Wheeling, or a jazz club

last night, when my eyes opened

and my arms too,

all was still outside

the lights blurred through window,

looking like Wheeling,

West Virginia, when you cross

the bridge and look to left,

see this coal mining set-up,

feel the lungs clench,

and we were quiet, you

and I, there in grasp of love

and night watched over

and my half-opened mouth

began to say things, like

about how I used to drive

through Wheeling on the way home

from Cincinnati all those years ago,

when I was someone else entirely

and looked at that dipped-down

coal mining set-up like I belonged.

last night, when my eyes opened

and my ears too,

I heard piano boogie-woogie

like Monk at start

of 'Blue Monk,' and your eyes

sparkled in the darkness

like diamonds, and I wanted

to touch every part of you

because every part of you

is what I love about you

and these mid-night wake-ups

and these early morning

hallway walks

are what I'll remember ten,

twenty years from now

when we listen to a Monk

tune, or drive through

Wheeling, or just lie there

in half-aware of world laze,

speaking from everything we've ever had inside,

a grasping, clutching, jazz-pop styled,

I love you.