I don’t hear anything.
There was a name that I knew once
dropped and forgot until it resurfaced
in a face I didn’t recognize.
A Saturday afternoon paused
as I cross over.
Locks along the fence
mementos to an invisible moment
I never shared.
Another. Yet none came.
A rich vanilla hangs in the
night air to balance our hesitant
You in a sun dress.
Me in the haze of
a martini lunar eclipse.
And in that space between the clouds, the storms
a constellation and
there a mountain
where beneath the blind hills are exposed
a bird in the foilage of trees evergreen
a fire near a woman