September 4, 1959

Standing at the stairs, we shook hands.
I could see through a plain glass window
how the rising sun
silhouetted empty branches of trees;

but, by then, bright light had faded
to a flimsy gray
that wavered as if uncertain
like northern lights.

Sleep for us had been an eternity
until the sun
reasserted the authority of time,
so a parting was unavoidable.

Not a hug. Just a handshake at parting,
accepting doubts and possibilities
that reduce “Goodbye” and “I love you”
to the simpler “Remember me.”