Crossings VII


Whatever I was to you, I still am.  Standing here at the edge of the sea I know the color of feeling as I know mauve mirrored in pooled water is the color of longing and blue leaking into the pool’s edge, intrusion of sky, is the need I cannot let go of.  This tiny spot of water is what the sea left behind and yet it refuses to die, growing more brilliant as sun crosses sky to dusk, its final destination, what begins in my heart grows out into this longing.  When I move my leg one step forward, I remember your leg traveling its distance and when I raise my shoulder, I feel your inquisitive glance.  If I stretch my arm level with the steel horizon and hold my hand open, I can only know it by the absence of yours.  And when the light plays with the hairs growing softly down its curve of thin muscle, I remember the curls on the back of your head as I watched you learn about a country you had not yet found a color to describe.