You will never know

how many times I’ve traveled
the same path we walked that first day
late December
Each time
never making it farther than the bridge.
The first time I retraced our steps almost exactly
stopping at the same points of interest
remembering the quality of our conversation and
the longing that followed
Crossing the train tracks
from one path to the other
I went under the bridge and

Wiped tears in the dirt where water once lived.

Pungent chamisa. Wild flowers purple and orange.
Weeds overgrown and Autumn heat.

You’ll never know Alexander

I thought I’d never get over you then

longing like kite strings