Bokelskere.no

When We Met

It was October
I remember because that is the month
that goes into digits
and the birches start shedding their leaves
and the slender prongs of the rake twang
like bluegrass music

It was Sunday
I remember because the wind
had been blowing in my ear all morning
and the clanging of the bells had scraped the canal raw
And the tender afternoon was loud with the deep
hum of your words

Your story was spices and metals I couldn't identify
Your story wandered like the veins on the back of your hand
when you pressed my forearm for emphasis
or help. Do you know I hardened to bear it?
-recast by the friction ridges of your fingertips
whorls that spin ever-outward?