dialogue.

Once
when you turn your back
at the kitchen sink
you ask me what colour your eyes were.

I stand very near to you,
and very still, not touching
or looking
for what must be a time
because after I answer you ask
what took so long?

Entire geographies of sky between clouds
pool inside my head.

To me no time has passed at all.

- Michael Bradford

This poem was posted in one of Fredericton's city buses; I smiled wistfully every time I read it.