Unknown

Prickle and shim of nape

and skin; the feeling

enters

like an intruder

at the June wedding

of some limpid girl

or today packing

our footfalls bounding

room to empty room

unfastened with the furniture.

We aren't moving

only re-sanding the floors.

Still, in our seventh year

of marriage

there are moments

we shift nearer

our unknown selves

who we once were

or never will be again

in another's gaze.

They brush past us

lifting up the fine hairs.

This poem appeared in Nimrod International Literary Journal, vol. 49, no. 2 ("The Healing Arts," Spring/Summer 2006).