travelers

We spoke once of faraway
destinations, premonitions, retribution
for deeds done not too long ago.
We sat and sipped on frozen
beverages, the words stumbling off our tongues,
their touch calling upon bare
memories and sentiments – too close to invoke
nostalgia. The reasons were few but the answers
were true and the mosaic danced cold
and unwelcoming.
We spoke then of much and I listened
to your dreams and such –
the world slipped on by, waving and calling,
we both stalling and never hoping to converse
again. Our voices, then, must have held so much,
so much so that our memories fail again.
That evening light shone upon our shoulders, on
our feet, and on our eyes, but now I fear I am out of breath
and there’s naught in my mind to stake hold on what
we’ve held.