Cross Over

It was cold,
and the wind was piled high
with bad memories,
and walking was hard,
as if the street was a wound in my feet.
And to forget,
I crossed over
to the other side of the road,
where a cat flashed
like a fallen lamp,
and the swift clouds
grazed the sky until I was raw,
and I couldn’t remember dates or years.
I walked on a street
where nobody knew me,
and not even the night
held a candle,
and the lamp posts
no longer recalled your name,
and the stars were like the clarity
of a life wiped clean.