We walked slowly across
the field where the night was strong
searching for that silent spot
where we could hide
ourselves to see the better parts of sky
spilt across with light.
She counted to four hundred, and I,
five,
one for each of the fingers on her left hand,
mingling quietly with mine.
We told the stories of cool evenings
and of autumn without seeing our breath,
eyes searching like moving planets,
for the gravity of the sun.
We lay silent in wonder at
the way the skies moved the moon and the starry bright,
each outdoing the other in quiet feats
of speaking without words.
I let loose a breath,
breathing in one of hers
as it drifts warm through the air,
dreaming of the things that will never return
now that she isn’t here.
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