Eurydice

It was the first time you didn't smile.

I turned around
and there you were--
tiny in your hat and pea coat,
the storm in your face the prelude or the aftermath
and every part of you trembling
like a falling leaf
a fallen leaf
the final speck of autumn . . .

"Can we go," you fluttered, lacrimoso,
and walked on--
knees bent,
shoulders hunched,
pushing slightly against the mist
as if it hurt you
and resisted.

And I--
and I, rooted to that little patch of sidewalk--
I turn my head,
avoid the painful dance,
and wait.