Granted

A film is always like a book and not like a conversation.
— Christian Metz

As I saw your face nearing

my face, snow fell through

a keyhole and opened the door.

We went inside and watched

windows wax green and gold.

Spring, we decided, was more

oppressive than winter with

its alyssum and clover

and the sheer weight of life

crowding us off the page.

We stayed in bed for years

and took our cures patiently

from each other’s cups.

We read Bleak House and

stored our money in socks.

Nothing opened as we did.