Lisa

I remember her in shards

lit by passing cars.

She was smart as

night-blooms and her legs

were as shapely as plumes.

I followed her around town,

because I needed to.

We came together briefly,

the way lightning

and hills do.

Now, many years later,

the snowfield

between us is sullied by too

many feet. The white,

where our sight

used to disappear, has itself

disappeared. Yet, we

talk to each other in tender

terms. Our words

are soft and low. The night

surrounds them. The wind

whispers through them.

Yet, we are heard and under-

stood. Yet, we know

there is more snow,

more lightning, more words to

come that only we can use.