I dined last night with she-who-must-be-heard,
and listened to at least one pithy thought
about myself – my friend can use a word
to show a mind observing as it ought.
Across a table of compelling food,
between the bells of palest amber wine,
she played the mirror of my attitude,
and beamed refracted vision back to mine.

So like the curve of liquid in my glass,
and through that parabolic focal place,
she took the years of talk and thought, and passed
them back, gold-toned, for me to meet my face.
She said “I like this best, of all your stuff:
you loathe adults who think they’ve learned enough.”