and platonic kisses,
we are succored now
by noises
which ripple the horizons—
contrails
from car radios
smearing lively streets;
starlings who needle
the blithe air
with their whistles;
and laughing-screams
leaking from the edges
of our playgrounds.
And though deeply at peace
and in love
with the sounds,
we maintain
a light dispassion,
and we know
this isn't heaven
by the way we aren't
fatigued as yet
with all the repetition.
