This thought has always haunted me.

People you meet once
and never again in your life.

You have a static picture in your mind
of their face
the small conversation
their little story they tell you
the place you met them
in a bus, a shop, on the road
interactions not long
but meaningfully small
yet leaving a memory in you.

I think of all those people
I stopped by to ask for time
seek direction of my destination
or asking where I might find
food or a resting place
in an unfamiliar area.

Once and just once you meet them.

On a summer trip, I was looking for icecream
in a strange place off the highway
walked ten minutes to find a shop
where for that brief encounter
the seller made me feel like
he had known me for long
shared the history of that area
the migration and culture of the residents
before helping me with the right icecream.

Sometimes I wonder
if they would have enriched my life
were they part of my association.

Not scholars, not rich, but simple men
who bring you down to earth
and carve a space in your mindscape.

Sadly you meet them once in your life.

I feel it's so designed.

Gleeful parasites intent on obliteration
feed on the stillness.
Starlight can't warm the damp grass.
If only he had cosied up once
for one last chance
to embrace.

Time draws close for dispersal.

Coming summer there'll be no traces
of the faces beaming at the gate.

Eyes sparkling lips apart
breaking into one more dance
to be in the sunlight under sky.

Hugs and kisses fly in the wind
maybe one last embrace
for all time to come.

They'll see the world differently
and their paths will never meet,
most likely.

The most intimate will become strangers
before once more
they disperse at the gate.

I turn back with the weight of this memory.

From where the mountains kiss the blue
I drop a note
I love you.

The faded pink of her lips
blends with the radiant gold
the sun pours into the air.

My mind wispy light in joy
flies over the top
before melting in silence.

No words count here
in the quiet submission.

The air is fresh
The sky is clear
The birds are singing
The smell is pure

He doesn't remember anything.

The dotted boats on the sea,
birds peeking from the bush,
a smiling ******* a valley,
a couple with a baby in the bus..

The places, years, situations
he looks at with a snug vagueness.

But he revisits them calmly
happy in the bliss of not straining
to remember.

The spaceship he boarded with them
is now cosmic dust.

Let them be left in that capsule of time.

The melancholy sound of a trumpet seeks refuge in the night,
as a snare is brushed gently and cymbal tapped light,
the far away strum of a guitars soft dreamy strings,
playing the music that compliments what a lone voice sings.

Cigarette smoke hangs heavy like fog on the old river,
the ****** sit at the bar sipping bourbon hand delivered,
the romantics dance on a floor that whispers charms,
planning their moves with the lover held in their arms.

The street light barely penetrates the grubby glass,
the bar winds down as yet another night goes passed,
customers sway at tables as they embrace a cloak
of the heady scent and high effect of marijuana smoke.