• I love you —
    it’s really quite simple,
    those three words,
    so quaint;
    I inform my mother
    of them,
    before we entrance
    our minds
    with vivid,
    colorful,
    luscious dreams.

    Last night
    I saw you in my dream,
    standing there,
    smiling,
    mouthing something
    I couldn’t catch,
    couldn’t grasp,
    but don’t mistake me:
    I reached for it
    so far, so long,
    it hurt.

    I love you —
    those words
    so simple;
    I inform my father
    of them,
    when we sit in the morning,
    sipping bitter
    black coffee,
    reading the newspaper,
    complaints persistent
    of $4 a gallon.

    This morning,
    I saw your reflection
    in my bitter
    black coffee,
    mouthing something
    I couldn’t grasp.
    I didn’t reach this time,
    I knew better,
    but I wanted to know,
    oh,
    I wanted to know.

    I love you —
    such a simple phrase,
    I was prepared to
    inform you of it,
    when the sun hit
    the center sky,
    but then you
    smiled and said
    “I love you, too.”
    It’s no wonder that you knew.