Ruben Quesada

 

On Witness

            For Paul Monette

Dear Stranger,

Remind me of a time when love tucked us back into the earth without care; where and when 
daily we awoke to discover friendly faces gone, silent bodies drawn at dawn. Look out. See the 
flattened clouds fill the horizon; it is a gray so slick you can see your smile reflected in winter’s 
glen; you’ve become the sky, your face filling the heavens. All that is left is the faint smell of 
lavender lingering like a bruise. I refuse to lose you.