as I have stood between people when you left
under a single ray of sun and a single snowbell in front of your white house on the hill.
I knew I was on the side of good, of righteous
and all the other streets I wondered onto afterwards, afraid and out of place, with February thoughts,
I wanted to go home where I knew I’d never find you again.
to walk the deepest lines of histories,
on your day, with despair filling up the notes of the unsang songs,
I carried the burden of all the words I didn’t give you on the bed of flowers
That you had made, sewing the years that I’d been away from you.
I had felt it before, it covered the steps of people, their laughs, birds and bells and clocks pushing me onwards to the river,
It covered the joy of my new life that you could see from above,
the sheer silence that covered the world’s voice and eyes and hands,
I had felt it before, the mark of all the years that I’ll sew in a bed of flowers of you being away from me,
the quietest touch caressing old and new windows,
I will feel it again,