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 ...