She Prefers

a small room with
animals allowed.
She prefers loved ones
but only a few.

She prefers shared meals,
vast spaces—
prairies, oceans, woods,
a tree. She prefers him.

He plants vines for her
to cover up the hurricane fence
next door—maybe two kinds—
early and late.

The neighbors
will say How beautiful—
your trumpet vine!
and
Isn’t that clematis paniculata?

He will smile.
She puts a chair in the yard
to watch him dig through the heavy,
compacted years.

His sweat smells
like prairie grasses in the sun
She prefers this day,
nothing more.