Genuinely this light pulls in the
furthest direction, to a distance
unseen; the shadows are long and
how she likes them but stepping
under each its own shape and sway
and currency she feels the air chill
a little and her skin dampens as she
reasons against it.
Crunches remind her of a newer
season and all this light retells
the stories of almost
forgotten moments now
chiseled into an embankment that breaks free
with chunks of memory only
when her waters rise
to a greater height.
It is as though
some moments now in affect
were lived in passing and folded
into squares and squares
creased forever and now
stored in
a hidden place.
If she sees your face
again in one breath she will
know your creases and
love each fleshy channel;
those canals that tore into you not
by her assistance
but corrugated over time
in her absence
through pain and shadowed secrets
and unveiled
now to every eye.
Just as here she prays palms
upward and dark
sealed eyes summon a single note that
flutters and sails the chill
without lingering with any guileful
grasp, she yearns
for the greater pardon:
you did your best.
