I walked by the park where our
past is, with bent grass
where it seemed our
shadows stained.

Your dress, dancing in the gusts,
like gestures, subtle – with
flowers sewn-in
that seem to float
in the winds. 

I should have followed them.
Instead I traced the outlines of
bones and depressions
of our fleeting moments
piling onto
themselves,
as if soft and pale carcasses of memories
that make us lose touch. So we
walk on, slowly,
away from this place,
our old space.

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