In the quiet spaces
--
I looked for you,
in the remembered places, times shared, footsteps traced.
Never certain as memory makes it, but looking back, surely,
it was shared, not a stolen kiss. Surely,
it mattered more than a passing moment.
I walked the overgrown paths along the shore.
Ways, I know through seasons;
pale blue asters and goldenrod,
snow bent branches,
summer chanterelle, wild blueberries in a patch of sun,
once the barefoot boy, now a touch or more of grey.
I waited on the southern point,
where we used to meet,
out among the shattered granite slabs,
just above the spray. Waited until the light faded.
The pale line of surf marked the margin,
I listened, emptied mind and heart,
let hope make room for you.
Maybe, I hurried now where I lingered;
too early, too late,
turning when I should have stayed,
path bound when I could have wandered.
I thought for a moment, but it was only a shadow,
only somewhere you might have been.
The emptiness as echoing as a cast off shell.
I haunted the spaces between silences where I found you long ago,
I thought, by returning, retracing.
Arrogance, to assume you’d wait,
ignorance to assume you could,
innocence to believe there is a way back.
I watched the lighter trail of foam mark the current.
The dark water hides its true intent,
only the froth of bubbles show the underlying flow,
where the tide runs strong and deep,
out around the headland and to the open sea beyond.
