My feet straighten out as I walk up the road
A typha in my left palm and a worn warm stone
Sentimental?
Or just the dust of petals in my mind?
I just passed a great big pine
What is mine? Is that mine?
A great fine diner is up ahead;
entrance of town and once my homestead with
a paint chipped door schedule written in lead
Peering through the window
There's no breeze though
but the lights glow
but the plants grow
How can I know?
What do I know
The small bell dings and I crash back
The legs walk in let the door smack
I grab my chest and eyes wet my chin
When did the shudder begin?
Felt
Felt a soft red cloth wipe my cheek
Is it her or is it what they think?
a memory
it can be
and certainly hurts
like a memory
A sip from a coffee
she blows on it softly
a snapping blink in the glass
whispering with moments that pass
as much as I want to try to be