the black dots
on her stockings
shift anxiously;
the daffodils
she’s holding
jitter airily;
my hands brush
against hers when
I take the bouquet:
doubly cold skin,
yellow blossoms
light this grey noon;
her smile hidden
behind pale words
collapses again
into my silence
intrudes the sound
of her footsteps
receding but the
fragrance of spring