I visualize a trend
between the beginning and the end
of first meeting and sudden departure.

Remember the gasp,
the intake of air in the inhale?
when you first saw me your eyes widened
and you drove your small red car with vigor,
eager to drive us to the light that would
better spread across my face and dance in my eyes:
fixated on your dark brown beard and your own
bemused green eyes.

I don't think you ever breathed
past the conundrums of our time in space,
pushing past the questions
with pursed pale lips,
a tiny opening.

I am not as difficult as I seem,
and you are not as smart as you feel,
if you feel anything at all
for if someone asks you whether a trouble is really that
and you sigh and nod through the phone and say,
"Yes I believe you are right,"
then I'm sorry to not be wrong this once.

You left me hanging
up the phone,
looking around the empty classroom,
and tears sliding mercifully,
warming an already warm face.

You don't know this, but I loved every part of you
that I knew.
Every glance, whisper, silence.

Even now, when my voice cannot reach you,
and my hand reaches for the phone,
and then remembers.
Even now, I touch my lips and imagine yours
pressed close against

sharing our breath
and our lives again.