He came spiraling back up the stairs, all four flights, two at a time
Dark coat flying, dark eyes searching, something more to tell her, that last time.
At night by the ocean, salt spray and laughter and a dive in dark water.
Kisses, soft, then silence and her body, alive with longing. It was time.
A stranger on a yellow windsurfer like his, slicing through the northern ocean.
Curving the board back and forth to shore before her, the girl displaced in time.
Memory conjures a face, floating beyond the streaks of the bus window.
Please, please tell her what you didn’t, those last weeks, running out of time.
Pesto is garlic and basil, oil and cheese. Salt. Dip your finger in green,
deep green its taste, green your finger in her mouth, green still seen in time.
When someone dies where do his memories go? Memories only you two know?
You are so much older now than that day he left you behind in time.