Do you remember that night, when the church’s bell
fell silent in the square, when the street light
went out — the night, I think, that you wore velvet?
We danced right there and our feet transformed the snow into crushed velvet.
Sometimes magic happens, you whispered, like a bell,
whether it tinkles or clangs, it reminds us to keep our hearts light.
I have followed you since then, my guiding light
through the days when the darkness closes in thick as velvet,
days when my heart feels as dead as the silent, leaden church bell.
We mark our months and years the way a bell rings down the hours, moving instinctively between light and dark and back again, but my heart still skips a beat whenever you wear velvet.