years pass between meetings
and then we’re back
sitting in the same chairs
the same view from the window
except the trees have grown
we speak of the past and dig
up what we can recall
of things overheard
books we’ve read
stories to which we know
the ending

but here we are
attached by time
and a trail of common
experience remembering
the colors of landscape
especially those bright
flashes that appear late
in the still evening
when all is quiet
and only the wind moves
the branches between us

* From my book Awaiting the Images