I wasn’t sure, after all that had happened
if you would still be waiting for me,
like you always said you would be.
When we were little, we used to talk about
all the things we’d never end up doing.
The law of time, age, gravity;
we were testing it, moving it.
But we’re older now:
all the calendars and shadows have ended up
proving it.
We were going to fly up to the moon,
riding, gliding on the wind underneath our feet
and play Scrabble and eat mandarin oranges.
We were going to do it soon.
Between us there is airless space,
our problems have disappeared without a trace;
our hands are clasped and we’ve prepared ourselves,
just in case.
Basking in the tie-dye weather,
dancing together
even when the music has gone.
Our joined heartbeats are our metronomes;
our heartbeats are metallic.
Days, months, years have elapsed,
time rolls on and on.
And yet, alas, an echo grows deep:
the persistence of sound after the
source has gone.
Caroline Weeks
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reflected-sound/
