The Go-between

We see each other at the bus-stop, the woods,
the open-air café.
Always the same time,
the same clothes.

When you come, the rain stops.
Your narrow countenance
in front of me, but I search my memory
in vain, looking for the face’s name.

You give a speech – I’ll have to
declare it to others.
You don’t raise your voice – even when I shake
my head, turn sad.

At times, you open your eyes, turn the pages.
Your words, ripe with a gentle violence, quickly
make themselves at home in me, demolish the idols
which have sprung up since.

Then you kiss my cheek
and leave.
As you go the cafes close, the bus-stops
move to another place –

But a fluttering joy remains,
a vague smile:
yesterday I had a date.