Walking down a street in Paris with your ex, she with pace, you more of a stroll, you reach for her hand and she reaches for yours. And it’s not anything. Not anything like that. Like holding hands might seem to an outside observer. It’s a connection not leading to a kiss or lovemaking. It’s just a way you both say hi, how are you, I remember you, I remember our dreams, our kisses, our feelings and here we are in Paris walking together, but yeah at different speeds, different strides, and then you both let go and she disappears into the crowd and you glance at your reflection in the window of a bookshop and wander in to find the books of your friends on the shelf, and yours—poems inspired by the one whose hand you no longer hold.

Bio: Guy Biederman