You told me you saw a man hanging.
I told you it could be anything
the window is so way up high.
It’s a matter of perspective,
the battle of you see versus I see,
or the way we both get it wrong.
It could’ve been the shadow of a moth,
a heart, a rooster’s wattle, a lemniscate.
We change the subject but end up bickering
over which cookies Santa likes best,
pros and cons of cats and dogs,
etiquette for ducking out of parties.
Back in bed, we leave our disputes sprawled
between sheets, which we at least agree
may double as a noose.
