Ana Paula Amaral TK

The woman on the park bench
By Ana Paula Amaral

The wind washes the leaves
But when you leave, you take the wind with you
My heart for a walk around the park
I’ve never seen it again
And it has never written me a postcard
As every sunless Sunday,
Here I draw memories on the foggy morning
Blowing fresh sighs among the gray
Sometimes I see the blue
Sometimes I am it
Maybe ’twas the bird’s calls for an early sunbeam
That made me realize Fall fell later on me
Than ever before
Than to you
You spring your smile onto the other hemisphere
I never noticed your leaves fly away,
‘Til I tried to sweep ours—
Snowflakes on a globe
My reflection hits the glass too