a chime echoes backwards,
black to blue, to purplish green
we walk past the observatory,
beneath the slope of the hill
my hands are in my pockets, it is cold

she relates her attempts
to stop in mid-air
in their fall into each other
she says
I don't need you to
justify my actions
I don't even want you to
I know I would not
just
acknowledge the feelings
that caused them

she secures a strand of hair behind her right ear
the wind pulls it back, they struggle
back and forth
while we wait for a streetlight

like driving by night
you don't see the road
just the short part illuminated
the rest is assumption
of continuity
she says, leaning heavily
on the comparison

and I tell her
in a tone meant to be reassuring
that as soon as a way of transmitting a signal is established
between two parties
a crack making way over a glass surface
or any other signal at all
umlimited communication is possible
and that all that is needed
is to impose protocols over the signal
force it into interpretation
and establish language

she nods, she did not listen
the air carries a naked moisture
droplets of years, smudged
and I hold onto it

I find our receipt in my pocket
and I hold onto that
read it in my mind as we part
and her hair is

like a belching smoke
a chime and a reason