It could have been
but wasn’t
at the barn,
you looking over
the fence.
That was not
the first time
we met.

It might have been
Yet was not.
In a loose shirt
standing among
the seats at
the ballpark.

I could have forgotten
and have not.
That only a pinhole
of light meant
I would not
be that
minor note
left from the
final score.

It might have
been the shuttering
light of the passenger car.
Without the
link and the pin,
a tidal force
holding the shore
to the sea
that stops me
from falling away.

RLB 2/26/2021