I was ascending my memories
switch-backing up he slope
until I heard your voice,
behind the crest
and saw the shadow of your hand
and spun on my heel
to the side
I am not ready
for the harsh glow and sweet
shadows of your face
for the bitter sweetness
of such joy
---
under the foam of the moment
something thick and clear
heavy on the tongue
drenches the arm in strength
and warms the soul slowly
on the soft glow of memory
under quicksilver stars, flashing
in the living dark of the sky
you lean back
and rest against the past
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