snow littered the vacant park
as we walked away from the diner
heading toward a frozen pond
as cabs rushed through slush
seeing that we weren’t for hire.
quiet fell into us,
me, holding tight to his arm.
snowflakes fluttered around
us like summertime when the
flower beds hunch over the pond
welcoming all of god’s wings to
visit, pollinate, and feed.
not there now, quiet fell into us.
clouds escaped as I whispered
in a thick accent to my companion,
not that I was from another place,
but as a little game we played.
once at a bar, legs wrapped ‘round,
we passed notes en francais,
he practiced; me still etudiant.
I haven’t seen him for too long now,
but as I pause to consider the
ease of his self and the curls
that would sprout from his bald head,
I remember the quiet.
and holding tight to his arm.