symphonia ix

(wind moved slower 

through the trees

when you were gone)

he speaks lightly, 

about dogs by the river.

yet walking by,

holds

his breath.

(meet me by the shore, 

in Corolla)

in the drafty museum, 

he watches paintings 

with her. gently 

pointing 

at ones he likes.

(you—

the way you grip

your hair)

she buttons her cardigan,

examines his soft features, 

while he gazes, 

at Monet.

(you, you’re still there)

down in the garden,

he walks beside her.

statues strike 

their poses.

the rain wet

every flower. 

(i wished for you

whenever i could)

yet,

it’s all the same. 

standing,

beneath the sun

orange spring-forward glow

blonde hair

gleaming 

in the light.