5. THE WALK

I don’t take you seriously
is what you told me
on the mossy walkway
overlooking the waterfall
and since you didn’t look at me
when you said it
you must have meant it.

Come again? I said
because that is what the
mock-taken-aback say
when something shaming is
unexpectedly revealed
when what was unspoken
now has words.

You only mime, you then told me
as your heart reported in.
I swear I heard its beats
bounce off the damp stepstones
and shake the rotted rails
that guarded us only in mime
from the falls below.

The mist fell on our cheeks
as we descended the steps.
I struggled to break the disquiet
that had descended on us. But
your footsteps, their echoes –
you had worn dressy heels!
imposed a silence on us.

I reached for your hand –
it was there as always, always,
just as Leonard Cohen had purred.
We inched our way down,
de-escalating without words,
steeped in our own thoughts,
needing to take our own time.

Then my left foot got wet.
I had stepped in a pool that
the droplets of mist had formed.
As the tails of your raincoat
flapped in the breeze, you
advised me to attend to my shoe
which I was eager to do.

I straightened and said
thank you for your care and
thank you for being there
and I asked if you had a tissue.
Together we wiped our cheeks.
Then I kissed yours, now dry,
and on we walked.