My heart for you most recently returned on a chill breeze
passed among old buildings of a former place
with a smell of Winter in early Spring.
A frosty sun bouncing jewels off ***** glass,
spilling diamonds on groaning cars, made a path
I followed to the moment of you and I, forgotten
at the confluence of things we know
lacking you or me. The moment waited in the street
where light caught my eye a certain way,
where breeze tossed my hair a certain way
and bore a chill with the faint smell of Winter
in early Spring. To fall is to fly for a time
that narrowly misses the wind
and gets in the way of birds, but freezes them in flight
and stops the upward curl of smoke.
Our trajectory became a destination,
to know the exhilaration of flight in the abandon of a fall.
My heart for you could never walk
the measured steps of latter days come to ground
so softly without a sign of what transpired,
but it comes to me in painful falls that seem to glide
a chill breeze that smells of Winter in early Spring.