This reality

The engine starts, the moment hangs,

and the suspension of two conjoined worlds trembles

like my hands holding the disposable coffee cup

that was not coffee, but cocoa -

a sugary countdown of finite sips until

the immediacy of

goodbye.

This reality is cut and pasted

from another time and place

of you and me, when

soft laughter and happy eyes

did not conceal saltwater,

and when one hour

held the promise of many more.

Catch the bubble before it bursts -

that is what I want to tell you,

but the chance is lost. The light is

fading now

as you fade down the highway.

I want to rewind to the second before

we tossed those empty cups

into the wastebasket,

marking this separation.

Winter is radiant.

I wonder where you are going,

and then,

wonder the same for me.

If God paints the sky with his brightest colors

swirls the fuchsia with the cobalts and mauves

and lets the light shimmer through

as if the sky was the sun's candleholder,

I imagine that the future's outlines -

cast in rough draft behind all this sorrow -

are no less beautiful.