written by: Christ Keivom
Your departure hues the valley blue.
The sun goes out fast now.
Still, I’d walk you home.
In the clearing people move in to fill
The spaces where your body’s been.
And I think, the world without you in it—
Is where I don’t want to be in.
Four people walk, arm-in-arm, at four p.m.
On the platform, bound for the metro in four minutes.
The memory of you returns again like something
I can’t remember, and was looking for
Years ago, and far away.
Why is it December then?
When you’re the feeling of summer in winter.
The afternoon light an insect crawls over your face
… by the garden we had gone to see.
Our footfalls echo into the blur of the distance.
Like cigarette smoke in the air.
Like a cloud we then disappear
Into the crowd, that we become.
A few eucalyptus trees,
Had a few birds warbling in one single note—
A simple monotonous, beginner’s song.
A gray motor-truck with cartons of soft drinks
Pulls up to the scene and gallery’s the scenery.
Your cheeks are pressed between my hands
Like bookmarks in a paperback.
(I can see the motor-truck taking a U-turn)
It’s getting cold and already colder.
I can get over this—
The push and the shove of it all,
How all this fits together like a glove:
It’s the yes to a beginning.
It’s the no to an ending.
It’s the feeling of something which is unlike anything else.
It’s a day with you which is like no other.