We entered this year with crush and explosion, warm bodies and cold air.

Shoes lay ramshackle, willy-nilly, with scattered gloves and scarves on that old marble bridge while we purged our systems of excess adrenaline – this could be the realest moment yet. Hold me close, she says, while not saying anything at all. Perhaps it was her eyes that spoke? Yes. That must be it. I certainly must assume that mine were as dilated as hers in that post-fear rush. Deep black galaxies tethered to some rapidly-fading form.  Then, as somber as death and as perfect as the first breath of humanity, our lips moved together. They touched. Can you hear the immense silence of the moment? Can you see the din expressed in bright flashes and gunpowder smoke around us? Were there any words at all? Why, yes. Though numbering no more than 3.