We met in fall.
A flash of hair disappeared
under my tires –
sickening screech;

limp, barely breathing, broken body.
“Rusty!” you screamed, dashing out,
eyes blazing, frantically searching
for signs of life.

You ran in
to fetch a blanket.
Sobbing, we found ourselves hugging.
I drew back, swallowed by shame.

Seasons changed. I took
to walking past your garden.
My guilt still bloomed
while you pulled weeds.

You took your ease,
“Would you care to come in?”
Sipping tea, around
a tasseled tablecloth

you showed me
some threads of your life.
All kinds of colors spilled
over in the unsaid.

Periodically, our paths criss-cross.
We exchange pleasantries,
nourishing words.
“Like jellyfish,” you quip

“Responding to
light and warmth,
touching briefly,
before drifting off.”

Your eyebrows arch,
shoulders rise,
fingers splay out,
slowly unfurling …

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