Only That It Was

Stand out in the half-light

when the air seems

pluckable under maples

stretching upward in summer

silence. I once did. 

Like breath, a breeze

wrinkled the stillness,

moving leaves up against

one another like lovers,

the rustling like whispers,

then was gone.

I alone felt it,

heard it, missed it,

in those glimpsed

moments, not knowing

when it might return. . .

only knowing that it was,

and that I had been there.