winter morning, sometime after dawn. You. Me. The empty
street and the white sky and the telephone wires and the
sparrows huddled underneath the bush outside your house.
the lonely daisy-colored flip-flop sticking out of the snow
bank and how you said it made you sad?
The sun caught your hair just so, and even down to the tips
of your tiny eyelashes, every inch of you was light.You
know, I almost said something.