Meeting Dureza At The Church One Sunday Poem by RIC BASTASA

the eyes speak the familiar
and her eyes are talking about me
and my eyes too glance at her
and both eyes are talking in
careful whispers of silence as
the priest is still saying grace
before the mass ends,

and peace be with you we
bow at each other to the left
and to the right and then our
eyes glance again speaking
carefully the whispers of our
past sins, and i look at her,

my God she has aged a lot,
i even thought she is her mother.

we have nothing to remember.
we left the church not saying
any word from our mouths,
my wife pulls me to the car
there is no looking back she
says, there is no looking back.