The Japanese maple
climbs the west bedroom wall,
and shimmered leafy shadows
vignette my wood-framed leap
at the Powell and Market trolley.
I release the effort needed to stop
A wandering thought that seeks
reclaim, a tense reluctantly past-
and not so much as a scene but a way to see-
filters the crawling light
through prisms of
happiness.
Soon, the neighbor’s yard globe
eclipses the glowing ball of dusk;
the evening meal enlists smiles
of shoulder to shoulder and stolen touches
in the kitchen of that quaint downtown loft.
Even the music has a way of yesterday
and I dance Argentine Tango
with a memory of you;
finding restless air and a sense of peace
is somehow within it.
For the most unsettling sound
would be the exhale of seat cushions
and thoughts that I would never
find us once again, when
the moon asks to open our favorite wine.
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