I walk. I walk forward. I walk forward
toward you. You walk forward toward me. Sunlight
blinds us as we walk. We’re both caught off guard.
Lost, we walk past each other. Now it’s night.
Total dark. I stop. No sight. I miss you
like space with no stars. I call out your name.
Listen to its sound. Repeat it in slow,
separate syllables. Like claiming shame
or guilt for having missed you. I should have
reached out. Grabbed for where I felt you walking.
Why didn’t I? Why didn’t you? To save
each other. I swear I hear you talking
to someone now. Your haunting voice. It sends
me swirling. You scream. Or is it the wind?
Roger Armbrust
April 10, 2019
