The clouds play out against the sky today
differently than yesterday, but were I to try
to describe them, I would fall short, as they would
reconfigure themselves each instant in their passing.
At the intersection at dusk, in the green sunlight
sifting through the cottonwood leaves,
the cottony boles swirl past like sparks,
but they are not sparks, of course…
Later, walking through the same intersection,
dark save the glow of the red & green lights
casting their sad looks over the empty streets,
the perfect stillness of the moment is gathered
and redefined by the diesel whine
and hissing airbrakes of a bus pulling into its stop.
Thinking back to the bar the other night, it was not your words
that moved me toward you, but instead it was the something we held
between us. And content to let your arm brush mine
unchecked, to let our smiling eyes slide into their beery sync unspoken,
I broke the silence, and my words worked as blunt tools
to dismantle this delicate, wordless thing we shared.