Unworn White

The park bench, cold on my thigh,

watched a couple pose and smile,

her dress, a cloud beneath the sky,

caught the sun for a little while.

A white so stark, so clean,

like a promise never made,

a future, sharp and keen,

a path I never quite surveyed.

My finger felt the phantom ring,

a band of air, a hollow space.

No vows for me to softly sing,

no altar, just this public place.

The dress in the window, crisp and new,

untouched by hand, or by a tear.

A story for someone else, not you.

Just the quiet pull of a passing year.