the leaves heaped along the bottom of the fence
stir and rustle, sharing brittle memories,
all that’s left of the wind’s promises.
“Come,” she called, and they
let slip their hold
spinning, careless, believing,
for one, bright, glorious moment,
that to fall was freedom

I remember them then
scraps of sunshine
the wind wild children
streaming hair
flashing eyes
arms outstretched
chased them
caught them
“see?” they called
And I nodded but I don’t know if I did.
For they ran as the leaves fell
no doubts to dog them
like trailing, untied laces.
don’t they all
flash past too fast.

Now, hunched against winter’s bitter chill,
Stung by rain sharp as shards
I remember and try to see again
And, for a maybe moment, it seems I might
catch the kind of glimpse
you get when you look without looking at
but by the time, by that time
the shape you might have been has gone
gone as though you never were
though I heard your laughter
long after I lost you.
Now, all I see is the leaves against the fence
drab and dull.

Perhaps the wind would tell me
if I knew the question to ask.
But her secrets lie
where ever whispers rise
and all I am left with is
Heisenberg’s uncertainty:
When we know we cannot do when we do we cannot know.
Some days it seems we’re always
in the space between here and there,
the endless in between, always only halfway there.

Writer, walker, poet, educator. Commercial fisherman, builder, donut maker, organic grower. Boston, U. City, Maine, South Africa, Madrid.

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