I wasn’t sure, after all that had happened <br />if you would still be waiting for me, <br />like you always said you would be. <br /> <br />When we were little, we used to talk about <br />all the things we’d never end up doing. <br />The law of time, age, gravity; <br />we were testing it, moving it. <br />But we’re older now: <br />all the calendars and shadows have ended up <br />proving it. <br /> <br />We were going to fly up to the moon, <br />riding, gliding on the wind underneath our feet <br /> and play Scrabble and eat mandarin oranges. <br />We were going to do it soon. <br /> <br />Between us there is airless space, <br />our problems have disappeared without a trace; <br />our hands are clasped and we’ve prepared ourselves, <br />just in case. <br /> <br />Basking in the tie-dye weather, <br />dancing together <br />even when the music has gone. <br /> <br />Our joined heartbeats are our metronomes; <br />our heartbeats are metallic. <br /> <br />Days, months, years have elapsed, <br />time rolls on and on. <br />And yet, alas, an echo grows deep: <br />the persistence of sound after the <br />source has gone.<br /><br />Caroline Weeks<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/reflected-sound/
