"Where are your gloves?"
A man with watery blue eyes,
And steaming black coffee asks me.
I almost cannot hear him over the brutal wind,
The city taken by storm.

He leans closer and whispers,
"They are giving some away,
Under the bridge."
As if I know exactly which bridge he is speaking of.

Winking,
He continues past me on the street.
Homeless,
But fortunate in his kindness.

I watched the sun set from my rear view mirror,
And this is how life feels lately.

Where do poems go when you lose them?
Blurred by tears,
Swept out to sea,
Past sharp rocks,
Found by lonely fishermen,
Their fingers tracing waves.

We dressed in knee length skirts,
Rain boots covering black tights,
And though I haven't seen her since London,
We ran out onto New York streets.

"Now I see why people do this," she laughed,
"We're bound to get lost."

But I didn't say anything,
Feeling the pressure from her linked arm,
Little girls gone out to play.

We lingered down the busy streets,
Sweet chatter filling the air,
Until we walked up to our childhood home,
Though I haven't been in a year.

And when I turned,
She was standing there,
Hair shorter,
Years younger than the day she passed away.

"Are you free?" I asked,
Knowing she would be gone when I woke.

Tip Tap
Wooden raindrops
On the tabletop

It was the last night,
Lying on my bed.
We stared at the ceiling,
Knowing he would be gone,
The next morning.

Life would start again.

I started to cry,
Profoundly sad.

It wasn't all for him,
But for everything that doesn't work out,
Because we are getting older.

I love you.
I love you.

You are my past.

The bottle was opened by this song.
Pushed tempo,
Speeding past highway signs ignored.
We broke all the rules,
All the regulations,
When we listened to this song.

Forever wasn't long enough,
In the entryway of hotel rooms,
When our car slid off the road,
And lightning could be heard by the border.