Time was

Your sweater was a sprightly light magenta
and we didn't care who heard.
Sun stained south windows
like ichor in the spring
two thousand years too late.

We didn't notice.
We were waiting
happily, for the stream of life
to usher us like feckless salmon
to the rocks.

And two months later
the sky was so blue
it felt like our last forever.
We were lying in the tall grass,
wildflowers too close to focus,
when the wind whispered one,
soft syllable of separation.


You danced away
on autumn air

like a paper doll.