i met you fifteen years ago
sitting between two twin beds
when i asked, what do you mean?
and you answered that you are not
to be trifled with, you of unusual length
containing the valence of every party that i
could have imagined that day while also saying
i am above this, a fray calmer than the raining night
kept warm by a comforter set out and bright blue along
side a group that had a lot to see after reading even more
vigorously defending the notion that things might be more
than they seem to be, tales and games and the crackle of unspo
ken measures of the way things were and i remember that word
Roman Ryan 