A chip-carved wooden box,
a pin with one blue stone,
gifts to hold and touch, evoking
a name, a time, a feeling.
Other more ephemeral gifts,
a poem, a word, a gesture,
somehow exquisitely private,
live on in memory alone.
This is for you, he said,
handing me half of his orange.
More could not be said
as we were not alone.
Erika Bizzarri 
Erika Love this last stanza! J
Sent from my iPhone
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Beautiful. Made me think of the meeting of another’s eyes in a chattering crowd.
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This latest post, like our late-life friendship, feels like a gift in itself. Brava!
Envoyé de mon Di-Phone
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