Once, there was.
Ahead, steer now, confession.
The man’s voice, quiet as snow.
Dressed like bridegrooms, the waiters
Bending in with insignificants: Pepper, Monsieur?
He chose the room: a crate of cooing doves,
The armor of a lemon pyramid, a sheltered view.
The room filling. All the excuses made
For simple hunger.
This is a beautiful place, I say, unfolding a napkin.
Not meaning for him to suffer.
We sat at that expensive table
As at the nineteenth century. My father never said
The name I knew. The good blanks he left
Leave room to see: yet another story of a woman and a man.
Not unspeakable; unsayable.
I wanted him to know I understood the difference.
Maybe he thought, what occasion offered a man
He’d have been a fool not to take.
This was years ago. It was possible.
It is, still.
So many questions.
We’ll need a chair, strong light.
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