the winding of small strings

the man crouched beside the grassy mound,
crisp suit crinkling as he knelt.
​
nearly four years of grief, past,
present, into future,
twinkled across the bike
strewn near his shined shoe.

head rested on knee,
crumpling the starched suit.
​he sweat under an unforgiving sun.

through the grass, footsteps -
shattering the silence,
echoing across nearly four years,
a caretaker and another man approached.

the crisp-suited man
remained kneeling. broken.
his eyes met the gaze of the two men -
the caretaker,
and one only seen in the fog of nightmares.

in daylight too loud for both 
the crisp-suited man stood -
inches above, yet lower in status,
than the man he faced.

the suited man knelt to retrieve his bike
the other extended an arm,
touched his starched sleeve:
"I have to forgive you"

words never hoped for, nor earned,
tore through the crisp, crumpled, suit
and laid on his heart. 
a bruise -
for the forgiveness felt undeserved, 
the heart knew it was so.
but there it was.

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

then, joining in stride with the waiting caretaker, he walked.

the crisp-suited man reclaimed movement of his body
as though paid for by the air itself.

with one last glance at the mound
he too walked on,
bruised, shattered heart. 

on the autumn day
nearly four years ago
when tires met asphalt, 
feet - pedals,
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.

---