Her Spectre

She is the space between
fragile and forever, between
fierce and the softest kiss.

There was once a memory
in her name, a wind's whisper.
I heard it once, it tugged at

my sleep, and then scattered
off my fingertips when I woke.
If we forget, who will forgive us?

I passed a shop window today.
The world's closed, windows
soaped white. I thought I saw

forever in the glass, but it was
knots, snares, and much to do
about it already being July.