Throwing Bones

And there we were, finally
after what felt like years of separation
and Dan was telling tales of Morocco and
Venice and Korea
and I watched my husband sit on the balcony
his legs propped up, the wine in his hand,
each time he blinked he fell in love with this city all over again,

just as I fall in love with both of you all over again,
my boys,
my oldest of friends, my deepest of loves.

We are the bone throwers,
we are the magi
we circled the chairs so we were near the
cool breeze blowing off Houston Street
and we let the music play and play
in the darkening studio.
We chased away the bad feelings.
We chased away bloody ex-lovers
with stolen keys.
We chased away chastising family.
We chased away work and
brought out the spell books,
the sketches,
the wine,
the rum,
the poetry,
the Arabic line,
the music,
the bones,
the rings,
the Korean fans, the snail shells,
the Pink Life, the translucency,
the glasses all in a circle as proof that we were here,
like a still life of art imitating life imitating art.

We are the Fauves, the wild things with our terrible
roars and our terrible claws.
We are the tricksters.
We are the tide,
we come together and come apart
and come together. And this is the way it will always be.

And when we left that night, all howls and laughter,
we carried beers in our back pockets
as if the world and their silly rules
were inches below us,
just as the concrete was still inches
below our floating feet.
Just as the dawn was still hours away,
frozen and still
and we knew it would come,
the night would end,
but not yet.
Not just yet.