No cloud, the drop of a penny, a sign from the sky.
Nothing stark as that would
mark this walk our last together—
nothing subtle either.
Not the wide-porch houses I had often
spoken of liking.
Not the bench in the park, the
sugar maple trees,
their leaves.
Not the woollen toque you brought
along in case of rain.
Except that I was longing for you to give it to me,
as tender—and thought that mere
desire would suffice.