Steps, Sidewalks, Sunsets

Gone. Or it wasn’t even there,
   the wind blue and white
  through clothes as we step
between past and present tense:
   stories we make and tell
  between this and the next drink

I can’t remember the weather
   but we have weathered much.
  the forecast lies in our pockets
but neither reaches to check.
   We split the check, sometimes
  and the time ticks on wrists, turning
us in when late nights become
   early mornings.

Our posture like setting suns
   leans into other days, waits
  for lights. We dip and fall, stir
into each other’s futures, dilute
   the mundane or drink each other black.
  We spend less time in coffee houses
but pace to and from
   with warmer hands.