The kettle whined and you
leapt up, your heels knocking
on the hardwood floor.
Behind the glass 
the garden bloomed 
and I could see the wind
tussling in the tree branches.
I heard your voice 
from the other room 
say something about 
a baby shower, a promotion,
a trade-in for a new sedan;
I wondered whatever happened
to station wagons. The faint 
whistle of the breeze returned
as you clickclacked back in
with your chitchat and two teacups
in your hands. I let mine sit, 
too hot to drink.
You paused to take a sip,
and the wind said it all.