Bells and Other Sorrows, II

II.
I never knew if it was I who kissed you
or if you kissed me first
your heart's red thread pulling
toward mine
I watched as you closed your eyes, waiting

there in the eye of the sun sweating
in the smoke-free garden
with giggling girls splintering plates
in the kitchen window, watching us
your departure looming in the foreground
as you wended your way away away
I would never see you again
the bell stilled, silent

so, yes, the kiss
of what would not be
and what always was

but chaste, still
an innocent summer river and
the slow sounds of
a possibility
slipping
from my reach