Passing

Passing

You bring the coffee to my desk,

leave it silently at my elbow

so as not to disturb the thoughts

which the hours have finally yielded.

Your wordless visit,

wrapped in the texture of silence,

settles on the back of my chair,

one sleeve swinging from

the old sweater hanging there,

your receding footsteps

a mute canto dedicated

to the passing of the years.