He said that it was very hot
was a fact. We argued
about buying a car. About feelings
about town. How ephemeral our
sunsets, unless there were fires
the sky rusted, the sun a total
globe of disaster. We argued about my things
and by myself and what they mean.
It was a series of conversations
in a land of facts.
We were reminded
it had been hot.
It even sounded hot
and when most of that time was past
we were too hot in a fine
foreground. This remains history.
We were moving toward the last pieces
of our mind that would make sense
later. We had traveled there
before, never lightly, always
end to end. Facts heightened.
We had argued before, never
so particular. We were getting old.
He said it was a fact. I tried not
to let it be a sameness. I had to show him
we could stop.