He can’t remember each conversation
or their order
But there was a winter evening
they finished their coffees
at the kitchen table, then
went for a drive in the fallen
snow
And slid off the outside corner
blazing a new trail
over the high embankment
down to somewhere deep
in the discussion
Then climbed back to the road
in the smoky dark, where a school
bus waited with an open door
That they boarded without tripping
over a word, the door swinging open
this time at their doorstep
Where they carried the debate
back to the kitchen table
and refilled the cups with coffee,
deliberating far into the night
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