The Gifts We Gave


how small this presence we are
that chance might find again, strangers
searching paradise, 
red dress weaving
the crowd,
 Clark and Francine, now
separately refined, ask questions
closing doors
 hang upon endings
turn to beginnings, full circle
deconstructing stories, red waves
churn the foam 
to lift new
swells, consumed words spoken
never to be,
 gifts granted
each other long ago, again
growing distance now blooms
gardens that span this landscape
paragraphs the story’s passing
patches of light lift the dusted
memories off yellowed pages
calling up from darkened separate rooms.