In another version of this story
he pressed my palms together,
and there's no future in between them.
If someone looked over
they'd think I was praying,
but it's not important
that I tell you everything.
Just know that neither of us pried them open.
and only one of us prayed.
This was not our last meeting.
He'd come like a scent in the wind
and his eyes would find me as though they were looking.
For me it would be like gazing at a mirror
and finding a home I had not yet known.
There are some things that cannot be understood,
like the storms that both of us hide.
And I would wonder how
two beings could be so alike?
There are coincidences that cannot be told.
They have to be read,
like the foreshadowing of two naive people,
whose currents cannot be expressed.
They have to be experienced.