Scintilla

I don’t know what the word is
but I’ll find it
for you

Idle promise
made much of
when we were made of much less

I was in a book
remembering
waiting for you to walk in
not that you would
not that it was in your capacity
to do anything but arrive
awash in a world
dragged dutifully to doorstep

With enough years between us
I could find that smile
in each passing page
a reminder of late sunshine
goading me to get up
holding aloft
those dust motes
dancing as we must

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