On The Stair
Meeting you
unexpected
on the stair,
seeing
the crown of
your brown hair
ascending,
I become
a letter—cirrus-like
borne aloft
by winds, undated
(a love poem)
not yet folded
not yet delivered
The man I was
wisp thin, the writing;
full of what-is-to-be
and hoped-to-be
becoming cumulous
by afternoon
bold and dark
then gone
by morning