XLIII. To Anna, In Winter.

What I saw in a stone
Was a thick rime, too much the same.
Was the cold start of February;
The cold beginnings of the second month;
The first year of the second decade; the third millenium.
A second take of the promise of a new year.
A double-take glance with second thoughts,
But a hanging smile left suspended
When the face fell.

XLII. Role Call

...
You were the first cusp of failure caught and held like a cloud above the sheets.
You were my first How can this not be love?
You were my first disappointed, sympathetic look.
You were my first conditional unconditional drawn taut against a moral plank and snapped to leave a mark upon the great divide that never fell.
You were my first regret. The gateway regret that let in all the regrets that followed.
You were my first intimidation.
You were my first "Let me inspire you" and why do only you get to see above us both?
You were my first terrifying phone call that I would take again tonight and every night for the rest of my life, in bed or Brooklyn or Buckhead.
You were my first apathy. My first nonplussed, unremarkable, even, and I felt it and it shook me and I stared.
You were my first kiss and the first one I'd take back if I could and you grabbed greedily for both all at once.
You were my first broken heart.
You were my first hand-held quivering voice, I promise I can get this out, just wait.
You were the first broken heart I noticed that wasn't mine.
You were my first phone call with my first cell, and you were so many other firsts, that I lost count the only time I ever counted.
You were the first unequivocal mistake I made more than twice.
You were my first friend for life for three or four years.
...