After a parting kiss
You turned and your hair caught sunlight.
I saw it lighten
In an instant
And saw you
In a picture, aged 60.
You,
Still with smiling face, baby’s skin and untouched eyes,
Hair pulled back
Mixed gray with deep black,
Arms like gold
In modest dress
Of fashionable restraint—far more alluring
Than scornful children walking city streets.
Laugher touches you more than sadness
And every hurtful moment we volleyed back-and-forth
Has faded like cut flowers.
The years are dust, tears dry and
Ardor still alive
like the desert sands shifting in your skin.
You smile and I feel every year.

I want to be there now.

Were time mine to bend we would be there,
Laughing
Like children,
Content to be running through the pouring rain.
The angry mornings are defenseless;
I found your black hair between my fingers.