Trying to think
in phrases as beautiful as lace;
words that roll off the tongue
like thunder
bringing rain to break
the heat

that marked the end
of an era.

Trying to go back
to that open field
where I was vulnerable,
where the pressures of reality
were as far and as fleeting
as the star we watched fall
across the sky,

where grass between bare toes
and fingers intertwined,
and the future was ours to chase.

Hair flying,
hearts pounding,
not knowing

once we reached the edge
of the field, and found
the road, and found
the paths,

and realized
that ours went
in different directions.