The Walk

At least in my last hour when before me it lies
Allow me a meeting, with those blue eyes
Maria Petrovykh

Together we walked, half sharing an umbrella over which soft rain
fell like dew through the grey afternoon. The conversation that filled
the way, made my heart overflow and ache. Of uncertain flights,
musical languages, noisy friends, healthy food. You were pleased to see
the sphinxes I pointed out. ‘I’d never have noticed them’, you said.
A hush fell, a silence we shared with the smiling sphinxes, in which
our footsteps on the leafy lane synced into the lines of another idyll.
You’ll never know what those stolen moments mean to me.
Walking with you, my spirit flew, hovering above us. To walk,
talk with someone who smelled of good cheer and cigarettes,
whose laughter flowed into, evoked, echoed mine.
It made the short path, shorter.
You wanted to give me a hug. Your presence was enough.
How it warmed my frozen heart. In another world, another life, perhaps,
We might have shared more than a hug. More conversation, perhaps.
But the walk remains. Your gift to me, so precious, it shines
along the lines of this poem as I write it, like silver
on rain clouds as they pass above a parched desert.

(Feb 2016)

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