Is it the falling rain
as it creates a clear sheet,
a cool blanket upon the earth?
Or is it in
the ripples
that form,
and disappear,
along the water’s surface?
Is it the taste
of burnt coal
and ashes
in
your
lungs
as you watch
the past
go up in smoke?
Could it be
along the nighttime streets
as you wander
in search for
where you belong?
Have you found it
under the light
of an
iridescent moon;
in silent reflection
as you reminisce
of Halcyon days?
Is it in
the aftertaste
of their fingers
intertwined
with yours,
or perhaps
in the whispers of
I
Love
You
residing in
the distant past.