I stroll along the rock wall that borders the park, the tips of trees rising from the foot of the Palisades like fingers reaching for a sky too high to reach, just as I reach for something I know will remain beyond me, yearning for a touch I can no longer feel, or the press of flesh I can only remember vaguely, like a sweet taste I can no longer taste, yet recall it's flavor, as I wish to taste it again.
I cup a cup of coffee
in the palms my hands as I walk, warm against me, stirring up warmth from other
even sweeter things I can no longer reach, my limbs like tree limbs too inadequate
to get again what I briefly possessed, from way back when,
the cup releasing its
steam into the air as if released from inside of me, my sips recalling kisses I
actually miss, this landscape strewn with fallen leaves of last fall, and of
her, knowing as I know her steps must have stirred them when she walked here as
well
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