Visits

 

Elastic clocks mock the memories
I think I have of you - half history
but half wishing what probably was


nearly truth. Sometimes I want
to shake the apricot tree, to hear
the soft bump of fruits on earth.


I climb the mountain that knows
our home, on solid rock... The horizon
has swallowed the ships you touched.


Our bench in the park is scarred
with names, tears, plans. It grimaces
at my hurried steps, faltering past.


Our hands are months apart,
in the same places. I need a slice
of time, if only for a second.