The evening, purple and plush, is tender.

Her breezy suggestions of tales, told late

well, often, and loudly from tables

laden with good friends. The fingerprinted

beer glasses fill with memories, plump with

well worded love, seed the new day

and push just a little harder toward joy.

Glasses emptied, giggles abounding

posture themselves as little brother

to guffawed grins on quivering chins,

twin bearers of gladness and gloom.

For soon the night must absolve

the room of her secrets, and

invite the neighbored goodness back

to places now refreshed in

the exercise of lingering laughter

late and perfectly balanced,

found only among the best of friends.