End of December, beginning of summer

You scratched the record on your way out, watched
the blaze from your living room window. Up in the rafters,
we waited for the strings of an opening number. It was

different, you said, from all those times before; and it is
different, I agree, to look on from above. I tried to agree
as much as I could, even when I didn’t understand. We wore

no harness and moved with no light - we watched,
and we waited. And when it was time, we ran back down,
flashlight in hand, to reenter the world below. We were

sitting on the floor of the bus terminal and suddenly
were kids again; huddled together. You found a new record
to play in the final hours and let it lull you back to sleep.

But I stayed up to listen through the whole night. You left
it all to me to remember, only undeveloped film and
a memory becoming hazy.