We

We studied tonight up in the blue room.
(That’s what it’s called.) Blue walls and open windows:
A small rectangle in an old house. We
Sat together and read. The air breathed
Between indoors and the soon coming night
And took time back to spring that year.

Things were different then—our freshman year.
We had giddily stepped out of the room
Of childhood. And we’d wavered for a night
Then found each other through the windows
Of art’s communication. And we breathed
Dreams. A group of voices became a we.

So we were cocky, naïve, thought that we
Had gained what we only glimpsed that year.
And we scorned them. Remember when we breathed
Laughter from our front row in that classroom?
If we clung too tightly, recall windows—
Windows with candles—first seen in the night.

And if we our conversations at night
Held too dear, consider (all as we) we
were discovering there could be windows,
not walls. Beautiful glass in a young year.
We talked, scattered all over the plain room,
And out of fear found a place where we breathed.

And over summer ambitious pens breathed
Friendship in idealism. But the next night
It was lost for awhile. We left the room.
Now our talking was almost silent; we
Shook apart a little. Did you mind that year?
Back when we drew curtains in our windows?

Today a fall rain ran down the windows.
It’s nearly over. Three years. Life breathed.
Now, like a circle, save only half a year.
I, you, you, you, we remembered tonight.
The reasons for keeping company, being we.
Us is a quiet possession of this room.

Let’s stop the hours and talk ‘til the next night
And we have to go. But don’t you see? We
Are more than older being in this room.