William Doreski
One Anodized Moment
In the parking garage at dawn
the rows of cars nose the lean
moon setting over the suburbs.
I lie back and listen to ticks
of engines cooling; the air,
although November, sultry
enough to spoon and eat.
Driving this far this early
has warped me to fit a space
I usually don’t occupy.
Later I’ll share this space with you
and your frankly remodeled outlook.
We’ll stroll in the Public Garden
past the great bronze Washington
and sit beneath your favorite tree.
We’ll paw each other like children
and pretend our lives haven’t passed
in gales of debt and politics
but have birthed themselves over
and over until perfected.
But for one anodized moment
here in the parking garage
the noon settling in the west
is a hole through which I’m passing
to reach the innocence beyond.
