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
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.