We all play so many different notes of intimacy in our lives. Your smile, the one when you’ve let your body throw itself back and the youthful pretensions have descended to memory, the smile where the whole of your beauty comes out like the moon after a storm, white with teeth, incandescent in the spring of my heart, your smile is my favorite note, the penultimate ascension of strings in the symphony. So you are smiling like a day at full stretch, I am laughing with the insouciant calm of the night to follow, and around us the dying petals of April trees are fluttering about on the wind’s impossible streams of motion, sunrich even in death, the way we should all hope to die, and as you reach out to touch my hand with such casual grace, I see I spend so much time forgetting: Ah, but there is life with love, too!