holding
on
If I knew where
the good songs came from,
I'd go there more often" Leonard Cohen
I met my poem
on the street
and looked into her eyes
she spoke
teased me with her
familiarity
and distance
entanglement and hope
she'd changed
and whether that is due to a faulty memory
I can't say
"I'm doing
well," she said.
"You look well," I responded.
"I have to go."
"I know. You mean well."
"Yes. Thank you. I have to go."
it's hard to
let go of
the shape
the impression
of her hand in mine