the text read:
Kissing you under an umbrella in rain
makes my list of favourite things;
a lunch crowd streamed around us.
we, dry in a cylinder,
sealed with that old golf umbrella’s
nylon night sky far from city lights –
I don’t recall why I didn’t walk you.
maybe the rain put its hands in pockets,
whistled east on Murray Street.
you left behind the scent of magnolia,
powder on a dark blue suit –
cheek relief on my shoulder –
foundation print on flax that escapes
authentication – a recollection I’ve kept
from the yellowing hands of sunlight, time and air.