A man holds the small back of a woman

and I swirl the coins in my pocket

I need 50 cents to turn the lever,

grind the cosmic clock backward

to when I was on time for our blooming

and I wore something so big

and so blue that the cops on bikes paused

to see

I was in the park with you, arms raised

in the name of a summer that saw so much

We cried for a corner of a bar

where our chapel could fit

Raised in front of strangers,

plank by plank

until there’s a dome looming low

in the background of every picture we took.