On the platform, I said, "I will never leave you."
You stopped in your tracks, not to look back
but to freeze the world. All our years flashed
through the tannoy in that silent way we spoke
and it may have been hours before the world returned.
Sliding doors had just opened, and you slipped
through the slow-mo to catch your train on time
while I, watching you go, naturally missed mine.
It was meant.
The first time we met, I was on the boat rowing
towards your one lost oar. You, a smiling wounded
bird, waiting on a light-flecked lake,
your right wing bobbing just out of reach.
Our boat glided to meet yours, we met eyes...and I,
passing you your wing, climbed in. We set oars
and rowed back to shore, two strangers, kids in a pedalo,
comparing bare feet: your bad "sandal tan",
then you laughed at my extra-long toe.
It was
for you to leave me, and for me to await your return
at the station with flowers or at home...
It was
for me to have loved you this way, to have been left
this way, as it was for you - to not look back,
and to slowly walk away.
*
(1993, edit May 2007, thanks)
