muscovite:

Ok, I was a little nervous 
in the airport, but I looked at her 
right in her eyes, and sure 
she had her hair up sometimes, 
but why would that make any 
difference? What I am saying 
is that a thousand times I smiled 
into her sweet face, at the restaurant 
where the owner also took her hands, 
in the sleepy park, at pizza—she 
even drank some of my soda—in the bath 
where I made love to her dirty hair, all that 
and the moment of parting, waving 
and waving at her, even when her head 
disappeared up the escalator and then 
her collarbone, hips, knees and perfect feet, 
and my heart lost whatever small bits 
of stone it ever could have had, and yes 
time stopped and now everyone everywhere 
looks like they are from out of Vigeland Park, 
stone, sure, but smooth and naked and tangled.