Chairs on the terrace

Then let me be the woman who folds
open the chairs and spreads them out,
one chair for each thing she doesn't
say, one for every non-touch.

And then let's go there, you, me, 
each separate, sit,
just for a while, maybe.

Counting the chairs under breath,
making visible that what didn't happen,
make it attendable, make it dreamable.

Let me.