The sun must have reached low to prepare
our paths, as we walked those grandeur
streets, how it simmered the wind mild
and warm, to embrace the moment as its child;
how it forged halos around your cheeks
as you smiled, painting heaven on those peaks
& august bloomed in the lake, where my hand
kissed your fluttering feet—I felt it expand
till it was too leaden for my palms, and it drained
away into a moment in time, but you remained,
steeped in memories & my deliquesced heart
whose tides would fail to let you sail apart.