Somewhere Between Here and There

I was saying—

or maybe thinking—

something about the way the leaves

don’t ask for applause when they fall.

Feet on cracked pavement,

heel, toe, heel,

pause—was I going somewhere

or just walking away?

A name hung on my lips

like fog—too light to grasp,

too thick to ignore—

and I kept moving,

half-sure I’d remember

why the silence felt like

someone else's voice.

You ever notice

how the wind doesn’t ask

if it’s interrupting?

It just goes.

Like I was.

Like I am.

And maybe—

if I had just looked back once—

No.

Never mind.