Something of you must remain
in the corner of my eye.
I catch you, I think,
from time to time
coming out of a shop,
walking away up the street;
or drinking a beer
or moving to the music
with that lope of yours.
My heart is learning no longer
to skip a beat,
the pulse to stay still
and I can resist the need
to tap the you I see on the shoulder,
because I know with all my being
in the north and south
and the east and west of me,
in the empty quarter and the crowded place,
that I'll not be seeing the likes of you again.
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