Without conversation
there is a nod
between us at the restaurant.
The table is a sea
rocking us in different directions.
You are unsteady.
I balance like an acrobat.
Into the evening, we
go wordless—I, small smiles.
Your grins, polite.
At dinner,
we eat our fill.
My plate is clean.
You leave a scrap or four.
At the end of the night
when we part,
you think it is over,
and I think I found
another who can sit
in the silence.