moment mistaken for memory
you curl your toes into the dirt,
somewhere else,
i see you barefoot
and i imagine you
turning words around
inside of your mouth
feeling out the proper metaphor
with your tongue,
and thinking,
thinking, thinking,
thinking you would not
recognize these shoes as mine
if they were falling over themselves
to wait for my return
in your entryway,
and i would only know
by the soft memory
imbedded in this humid breeze
if that were you there,
a cleverly placed stranger
and not the strangely placed memory
who i half expect
as your pen pauses
and you turn the page.