It is a stark contrast,
your shadow against orange skies.
From far away I can’t see,
are you moving towards or away from me?
For a brief moment, the world and I are at peace—
an unconsidered kiss, blown to
the tram driver who waited for me this morning,
considerately.
The greyish brown of your eyes,
sprinkled with chestnut and moss.
I always aimed to find more in those eyes of yours,
the earth, mud, dirt beneath fingernails,
something real to touch.
On this fine young morning,
you leave me entirely bewitched.
It’s odd, because you’re not here
and you never were.
In this white hall with white columns,
the fountain before the gate, pouring for eternity.
The birch, you must know, misses you too.
Please come, Felician,
and stay with me.