Few Outlets

Emerging from the car
your shadow sat aloof
sighing into the splintered steps
its smile the porch light
voice a rolling gravel path
leading to this weathered home
with few outlets.

If there was ever a time
for your sideways smile
it is here now at 12:00 am
hours from the road to a strange bed
whispering dreams in darkness

When Patty Griffin would blow
we lay vibrating
twisting unfazed
as the room halved
twisting phases
until the fevered soprano mellowed
leaving us splayed along the mattress.

It is now at 12:09 am
when the New England wind
bites coldest
you lean against your bar aloof
thousand miles away
wishing to be twisted
fevered
breathed upon in a strange bed
like when Patty held our hands
and we smiled awhile.