Our Mutual Tender Existence

by James Crews

Trading our goodbyes before bed,
my friend said, as we embraced,
We’re supposed to hold on longer
because things are so hard right now,
and so we wrapped our arms around
each other, and stayed that way
for several beats in the lamplit room
as darkness swept down across
the river below. And I thought, maybe
we are meant to hold onto everything
a little longer these days, savor
the cup of black coffee and really
taste it on the tongue, hold the gaze
of someone across the table, not
looking away. Stay out on the porch
as a warm breeze tousles my hair,
until a fox peeks out of the brush
then turns away, but not before I
have caught the flare of its tender
head, blaze of its eyes staring
back at me, then returning again
to the darkness that feels less
consuming, less dark, the longer
we sit inside it together.

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Poem reprinted with permission from James Crews