A Flash of Red

There are decades between us
now. Even echoes
quietly fade outside
to find shadows
beneath the trees,
watch strangers pass
on cracked
sidewalks.
                   I think of you
as I sift through a song,
but you are not
the notes that dance
in the branches with a flash
of red, or the bit of silence
that warms itself
on a leaf,
here in my hand–you are alone
in a window
on the second floor.

I can see you move the curtain
back, and there
at last, the red
sweater is visible,
just for a moment,
before you move away.

You must do something,
and I understand.

I will be you, in a few more
stanzas, and we both know
the poem ends
in red.