seasonal

Today I share a poem that is the final poem in a series of four. They’re about falling in love over four full seasons. This one is summer turning into fall…

 

You stand in front of me naked

and I can see the lines the sun has made

on your white skin.

Like a suit.

 

We slept with the windows open last night.

The first night with cricket sounds

loud in our dreams since June.

And we lay together

as familiar and comfortable

as our favorite psalm.

 

It feels like just yesterday

our bodies were new

to one another.

The days were getting longer,

instead of shorter.

 

What did we do with those long hours of light?

O, what did we not do?