Bowl of Montana

You coaxed me to montana
with just your voice, no promises
except some snow and a dog
and I just sort of arrived
still breathing new york air
you gave me one night
alone in your bed
enough for me
to know I needed 
you asked me how I liked it,
montana, and I didn't know
couldn't speak for love
I said it was a bowl
those ringing mountains
and us inside
five days later, on the road
we followed the columbia river
because we weren't speaking
it looked like a wound, a long scar
all the way to somewhere north
of san francisco where we found
our voices again
I've moved on, you and the dog
went home to montana
but when I think of us
we're still alone together
in a beautiful bowl,
steep and slippery sided.
I can only look up in wonder.