Half-Turned Pages A Love Poem

That autumn every time I looked out the window I saw two leaves fall from a maple tree in my yard. Always two leaves fell together as if nature were impatient to strip the tree bare. Leaves were falling rapidly all through the city. I know, I counted them as they fell, where they lay clustered on lawns and sidewalks. At a harvest party, the friends who introduced us did not expect much, just another blind date, nothing more, but the half- smile on her face matched mine. We shared immediate expectations. Later that night, around Lake Harriet, we walked hand-in-hand beneath the half-turned pages of the moon, and read each other's thoughts. Later still, we sat in my car talking about anything. Suddenly, her eyes brightened, her face glowed. Something else had occurred, like the sudden descent of light into a garden of shadows. I thought, Does she want me to kiss her? It was my last thought. I leaned forward as she did, our mouths met and our lips shaped a kiss, and another, and another. And we entered the region of As If: as if we had known each other for ages, as if we were thoroughly meshed, as if this is how we wanted to be. In that moment, everything made perfect sense, everything was spontaneous. Gradually, our lips parted, revealing two smiles. I hugged her tighter before letting go. And it was as if moonlight poured into the car, and covered us in its perfect glow. In the meantime, the season had changed, autumn was now early winter. Raw winds shredded brown leaves, leaving rows of bare branches. We saw the naked trees bow to that wind as if they worshipped an unseen god. It was a time that made us think of intimacy, Yes, intimacy was sorely needed. She said in a mock-serious voice, 'We shouldn't meet like the others at ordinary times. We must be original, getting together at odd times.' I agreed. 'OK. We'll make seven am glitter, rush into ecstasy at two am, kiss good-night at four am.' She laughed in her special way, then brought out a calendar and a pen. One afternoon, she was so sleepy because of our odd hours, she napped in a chair while I fixed our dinner. When I gently awakened her, she stirred but stayed asleep. She looked so lovely I waited with an easy patience, drank her beauty like golden wine, and longed for a deeper draft. I rested my hand on her shoulder, and gently caressed her flesh, as I stirred her again. I waited for a smile to appear. It did. 'There are gifts everywhere for us.' She told me she had heard it in her dream, and it charmed us. For days, it echoed in our minds, a reminder to count our blessings. Then, she yawned to dispel sleep. Days she was sad, she didn't want my touch. She jerked her shoulder free. I quickly stepped back. When I touched her arm she walked away. I could not read her thoughts. I left her alone for an hour. Then, I slowly, insistently came to her side. I said, softly, into her ear, 'There is always a trace of moonlight in our eyes when we meet. It's what makes us so fascinating.' Her smile covered her entire face. She took my hand and lifted it to her lips. 'I'm sorry. It's just my mood today. I won't steal your happiness.' A few nights later, she seemed carefree. I read out loud 'The Vigil of Venus', so that she could hear the refrain, 'Tomorrow let the loveless find his lover. Let her who loved once, love again.' It was a sweet story, in which ancient lovers grasp fleeting joys. But her eyes darkened. She did not respond to the Love Poem, but turned away from it. I could not read her thoughts, so I gave her the silence that she wanted. Was the Book really closing? Then came the night I learned what was stalking us. We sat side by side in a crowded Vietnamese restaurant. It was as private a space as the world could offer. A darkness that was not nature's fell across the table. She revealed why we dated on Sunday or Tuesday, and kept apart on weekends. 'Another man? How long? ' I could see her pain. 'Over two years? ' She nodded slowly. She was stuck between two men, each one laying claim to her heart. The world offered no help. Mornings still rushed into afternoons, afternoons dissolved into evenings, nights summoned everything to sleep. Nothing had changed because three were tangled with love. I believed in another life running parallel to the world's. It is written in the Book of Moonlight. I shut that Book completely... I withdrew. Through her tears, she said, 'Thank you', and leaned her lovely head against my shoulder. It was the last time we touched. I tried to think of her as happy in the following days. Did happiness topple into place like the latest in a series of events. There was no way to know. But when I said, 'Good-bye', I was also saying, 'I love you.' They were meshed together. She only heard me say, 'Good-bye'. When I look now into the night sky, and watch the moon's orb, it is a closed book. No thoughts hover in the air before me. I breathe that empty air, and see just the moon's perfect white glow lighting the surrounding space for all to see.