We walked parallel
as if together; then,
you turned away
without a word.
Memory provides frames
to drape a significance,
that was not there
until this moment.
As when I walk again
beneath the sycamore
and light shimmers
the leaves in ecstasy,
the dance is not between
the light and leaves,
nor between what is
seen and how it seems,
but somewhere on a distant
edge, a different horizon,
askew to each other
as desire to memory.
(February 5, 2016)
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