DID I?

Did I do that?
Did you?
Is it another person’s memory
that I am moving through?

Did you do that?
Who, me?
Of course not, I was… we were…
Where the hell are we?

I am a dozen leaves in stormwater
stemming from the same branch
Scooped out by restless fingers
held in foreign residence
and dropped back without a thought
back into the silt

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Here in the rain we huddle together.
I warming you,
You sheltering me.
As you read over my shoulder,
We both pretend the other is something they are not.

You, a friend, or a lover.
Me, perhaps something more attractive, like a gardener.
Here with a gift distantly related to you,

Serene curves and gentle limbs,
Your superb form beckons adventure,
Each of your fingers tipped with life.
Your shoulders remember the support I gave you.

Lightning strikes, you flinch.
If we were struck it would be as one.
I lean back into you and sigh.
Turning the page on our time together,
To return when I’ll climb you again.