Last week, we talked about longing.
“I’m not getting any younger,” I said,

“I want everything–
more and more and more of it.”

We send messages.
We make dinner plans.

Summer is coming.
Can you smell it on the breeze?

Give me the endless blossoming,
birthdays and dancing,

long walks among gravestones,
the perennial reincarnation,

love begetting love
again and again. Amen.