I wanted to say you looked nice

I wanted to say

you looked nice

when I saw you, me

sitting on the bench

in a patch of sunlight

with a straight line of shadow

for an armrest,

but I didn’t think

of it until

Wednesday

and now

all I can remember

is the look on your face

as I sat there,

scribbling something else

and maybe I just imagined that look.

Or was it a faded

turquoise skirt you wore

with large white polka dots;

the sunlight plays tricks

with your eyes

but I don’t mind.

I still think you looked nice,

if you don’t mind my too lately saying so,

the sunlight was just up and over there,

near where you came out of that door

and turned the key

and turned around to face me.

It was then that I looked up and saw that you looked nice

and then, that you saw me sitting there, except now I wonder,

was it just before or just after?

Was it me looking at you or was it you looking at me?

And then you walked away into the shade

although I’m almost positive there was a swish of skirt.

That would have been on a Monday

that I thought you looked nice.

The weather, then, at least, was clear.

Again, some spacetime 

discontinuty with the photo;

there always is.