he turned and walked away
and the saddest parts of me
grew sadder for he’d left
without the slightest intimation
of feeling – nor did I detect
a drop of longing to linger
near me … a moment
more
and then, as if my hurt had
slapped him on the back
like a drunkard’s bid to bond:
he spun round, startled and,
fleetingly, looked oddly lost
in that familiar place – and then –
a trace of recollection flickered
and in his eyes, I glimpsed regret
for the perfunctory emptiness
of his good-bye – and then,
he smiled, in the way he had for me,
as he erased his steps and returned
to hold me in a subtle hug … evocative
and nuanced as a field of multicolored flowers
photo: Multicolored Flowers – M.S. Bourke
©
2015 W. Bourke