a finer way of falling

you were not there
while I waited beneath
the sudden rain for a bus
that moved somehow
swifter for not
carrying you along with me
as if Time slows
within your sphere
pausing for the same
hint of hesitation
I seek out each morning
that your eyes slide
unheedingly on
even the driver sees
it is you I read
and not the book
lying agape upon my lap
but it was when
you were not there
that soft and sudden
I discovered how this
untouched want may be
a finer way of falling

© Sarah Whiteley

a small goodbye

did you mark how I watched,
taking stealthy measure
of the space (three paces) between
– flinging distance –
but I, too shy to chance it
make this then a small goodbye
though the soft twistings of your hands,
fingers among fingers,
twisted me unbearably into longing
and I, whose fingers
held the maybe of yours,
could not keep you
and could not let you go

© Sarah Whiteley