Leaving

At a roadside shop,
they meet, mute eyes to each other's
silence and the afternoon.

In the glass window: rain continues,
a fine spray obnubilating, withering
over the view: soldiers climb up the trucks and not quite far,
on the street side, are some women
waving.

I'm going now, he says
in the lightest cadence
there is; but for her, it's as if the future
has knocked sooner, hard
as this fistful of words.

In his eyes, she searches places
she has never been. At the moment
leftover love hangs in listening air.

(How do bodies
let loose from borrowed time?
Can eyes bury longing
after a shared, respectful glance?)

But no more
an afternoon like this:
empty shop and street, rain due south, slow
departure has widened the landscape.

In the far-off mountains,
soldiers may be singing and whistling. But they
will not remember, call back, turn heads.

They move on and on.

-Arian Rey Tejano © 2012 A Noiseless Patient Spider. All rights reserved