Bitter Sweet Memory

Bitter Sweet Memory

A lifetime or a blink has passed since then,

That dry Sunday when the rapture died.

I remember our stroll past faceless houses

Both wanting to say something, anything, to halt the tide.

Words would not flow,  the silent current roared between us.

You gave me a pine cone;

Its import was lost on me.

I missed your plea for understanding -

You would rather be alone.

FIL June 2008