we stepped from the coffee house
and walked west, toward the bookstore
our heels clicked in rhythm on the sidewalk
you were singing a song from that show
we saw last year in Minneapolis.

you paid no attention to the others,
strolling down the walk toward us.
your voice was soft and sweet.

you took my hand
and we swung our arms,
steady as a metronome.

we laughed and turned
into the doorstep of the bookstore–
the OPEN sign still hung on the door.
You stopped singing, looked at me,
and smiled.

All the stories in all the books
were right there,
in your touch.