the winding of small strings

the man crouched beside the grassy mound
crisp suit crinkled as he bent, knee solid

grief of years twinkled across the metal
sun sat washing the bike seat, frame
strewn near his shined shoe

head rested on knee, crumpling
the starched suit, sweating in the unforgiving
beams of light etching across the sky

through the grass 
footsteps shattered
silence impending upon air

tugging at thudding hearts
and echoing across three years
the man remained broken

but at the cessation of the sounds
the head in curiosity turned
coming to face one seen only 
in the hesitant fog of nightmares

outside
in daylight too loud for both 
sets of ears piercing
crisp suit crumpling
shattered sparks on grass

the folded man stood
inches above yet shorter in stature
than the man he faced

watching the man kneel to retrieve his bike
the other extended an arm
touched the starch of cloth
suspending air and motion

forgiveness never hoped for nor earned
penetrated its cage and tore
through the crisp suit crumpled
and laid on his heart. 
a bruise.

for the heart felt undeserved, 
knew it so.
when the absolve echoed 
across the air 
in trembling velocity

but there it lay.

eyes met, the bike remained frozen, 
the man released his hand and nodded, 
turned away from the shattered grass grave
where his true love lie.

then, joining in stride with the waiting caretaker, 
together they walked 
backs facing the crisp suited man
who reclaimed movement of his body
as though paid for by the air itself

and with one last glance at the mound
he too walked on,
bruise. shattered glass heart. 
the whole of it.

when tires met with asphalt 
feet to pedals and lungs by air renewed
the moment was all at once and within him 

for she would always live in memory-
where he placed her
on the day they drove 
to where they remained.

:: written: August 24, 2014