I’m sure there is someone I almost remember
Who may have once told me they’d never forget
The blue of my eyes in mid-winter sunlight
When the geese were long gone and the gulls alone
Might be heard over the harbour, a broken
Bagpipe band skirling in northwesterly winds.
I will not consider that I am mistaken;
That only the moon ever looked back at me
While I whispered under the evergreen trees
About how a dust from mid-summer lindens
Lingered, fragrant, on our January thighs.
I will not consider how often I’ve stood
Watching how the river enters the harbour
Under the bridge; current quick, quiet, and free.