What the sleeve exposes
still obscures the wrist.

It sounds like rain on Formica.
Animals dart in and out of view,

their hollow bones unknowable
from our hiding spot

and theirs.
The MRI technician falls

for the calligrapher.
They spend most date nights

playing Skee-Ball
after getting a bite to eat

somewhere along the boardwalk.
Some of what interferes

gets removed and some falls off.
The machines constantly hum

because they can’t remember
the words.