A flume of cloud dust
Residue left by the particles
Or another wrought arm
Shoulder to shoulder
Head to head
An elbow grazing
Eyes averted as if
To mean nothing
Petals like stolen pebbles
Left on the marble countertop
On the waning afternoon light
A warm grey and mystifying echo
Sometimes my hands tremble
Skipping the stones
The flower tucked behind my ear
And a void of fear
Underneath the surface
Which has iced
Over the absent years