Have you seen him? He looks at me, feet up, fingers interlocked

His eyes are not gold in this light

And the red in his beard is shot through with silver, these days

Unmoored, in his boxers

His face expectant.

Yeah, I say, and nod. I am wilted; I did not understand beauty when I was young

And I have never learned this lesson

Compassion

Can be offered to me

Without the needle-prick of desire, the slipknot of want that welds a man's wishes to his intentions

He's handsome, I say, and tall. Stupidly tall

And I am startled by the way his face folds, the worry that knits his auburn brows together

Even as his body stays so still

And if we did not know each other this well I would not understand

The price of his compassion

The whisper of his own intentions

Raw

As they rub against the prickly edges of desire.

I won't call him, I hear myself say. I'm not going to talk to him.

Promises are circular

And as he relaxes, almost imperceptibly, I reach over

And take his hand

Heart-rate steady

Certain

That there are small gifts that can mean more, that we are both still learning

And even when we fail,

We will fall back to moments like this, together

The low hum of long history

A web that can catch us

Before something breaks.