Slowly I walked away,
thinking of how we
used to try matching
each others stride.
The patterns,
my leg lead, then hers,
a sideways glance
to catch the momentum,
then together. Harmony
for a while.
Mimicking, she thought
but it wasn’t that, just
a pleasure in walking
in old shoes after work
kicking stones.
I don’t often return
to my pavement youth,
now it’s not my course
yet, passing the site
I remember the stride,
that comes naturally.
