The knife edge

12/24

I had this thought

that it could

be,

that somewhere it

was—

we were.

I remember the knife edge of

“I love you”

and pulling away, too soon

and silent.

I remember crying at my airport gate.

Sometimes late at night now

I rewrite that

moment,

and it changes the years

that followed,

and I can still see

the slash of smile and

golden hair;

not frozen in my memory,

alive and breathing

before me,

wanting.

Behind my eyes now

the many have

gone on,

and our world’s somehow

stayed in orbit.

And we are together and

unconcerned,

cleaning up from dinner.