I hovered above a city’s beach
white-pebbled in a silver falcon’s
would not know the trepidation
to meet you yet again
away from the crowds
where falcons love to roam about.
The pebbles grew to historic buildings
wide avenues run between them
like parading grounds
just like the sorrow of past years
and the joy of a reunion to pick-up
where we’d left off
a dialogue that never ended.
One I feared about
but one certainly worthwhile
taken by the cusp of the moon
the soft warmth of a winter sun
defying its forecast rains.