Remembering Indian Head Heights

Twenty-first year, and we both leave

The hill crest that told the Rockies there’s majesty elsewhere:

The moon, the stars, the distant towers are ours from low couches

The draped, crystalline trees at winter and early spring too

The wheeze of coffee grinders and

After effects of shedding retrievers

The walls full of art and no spaces

The drills rearranging heavy oak furniture

The tuning of souls through light-box rays

The unemployed stints and radical job shifts

The sessions with would-be tenants

Getting cars up the hill and

Down on slipping brakes

Sipping liquid diets and alternatives

Singing off-mic at cabaret venues and

Swooning to Leonard Feather grooving on our old Chickering grand piano

The love that made us real deep and

Rememberers.