History drew me. It had a face.
Pale and angular with a curved beak.
  
Someone from the gallery of photographs
lining my grandfather's hall.
  
To begin with, I wanted to talk to him.
The corner table received us, two large animals
  
in a dinner booth composed entirely of light,
the Jack of Blue Matter,
  
sitting across from me in the unknown air.
Long after dark we walked south along the avenue
  
like a couple of drunks.
Once every few months we met for dinner.
  
Then the long quiet interval of years
between us. Improbable.
The Wedding Party
Deborah Landau
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The Wedding Party

Deborah Landau

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