In the summer sun
on the metal surface of the spoon
your hair looked like
water spilling, pooling
in a small puddle
I can almost taste it, still
Where the smell of grass
sound of wind in thick-leaved trees
green-heavy in the sun
and others’ children
make me remember
what you were like,
so long ago—
xxxand I, too,
now aging complacently
in this warm, safe space
our sweatered shoulders,
just touching, bent
make me remember
the turn of earlier seasons
easy decisions that shaped us this way
but your hair, dripping with light,
tastes just as I remember
when I licked it first from the empty spoon