Caitlin doesn't know what
she wants. She has
long hair and a deep sense
of vague injustice, a love
for coffee and quiet songs. 
I love her, but we don't say
love much in case it gets cheap. 

Caitlin rides trains and sits in cafes
she walks on deep, wide paths in the hushed woods
by her house, listening to quiet songs. 
She wakes up early and takes ballet in the city,
a class that's so good, you forget to notice
the room has no windows. 

We have walked on chilly mornings along the sand
Her father has shoveled my car out of the snow. 
We have caught salt in our boots, and hated tourists. 
We have all these things

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