It has been a lifetime of
what if it was the right time?
Did I pass under your ship,
the cold compelling me to warmer currents?
Did you spy my shadow
as I turned the corner?
Did we catch each other’s eye
in mirroring windows above the street?
This life-time moves forward only.
So, your ship is gone the next season;
I’ve disappeared when you reach the corner;
We leave our buildings at different times.
So, we hold onto those moments passed,
gently.
Because there is love to never remember,
that love that would only exist
if we were different people altogether.
It is devoid of meaning, shape, or time—
the infinite mass of grief.