A Bare December Sky

There is the intimacy of distance
In the bare December sky
It is the quiet color of memory
Grey and wide and waiting
With room for continued thought  
And these indulgent words    

Beneath that cloudless scene
There is an opportunity
To make the great romantic gesture
Half-realized, half-recognized
Then soundlessly expressed
In little, fitting lines

Anna, there was something else
Slipping through my stanzas
That doesn’t translate here
In that high and muted sky
Not limited by language
Not offering poetry

When I see it, I will write it
The resounding meaning of you
In a column of desperate beauty
I’m honored to offer this
Your eyes settle uncertainty
With absolute understanding