River Time

The hills are green with summer,
the lakes cobalt blue and glittering.
Whatever we longed for in March
is here already or forgotten.
Your hair gleaming obsidian
as always, despite a few white renegades,
your body stretches out like a great cat’s
or a landscape I never tire of crossing.
When I kiss the small of your back,
I hear the whisper of desert sands,
the rush of young rivers. No one comes back.
No one steps twice in the same body.
Spring was sun on the daffodils
and the time of the new wide sky,
the heart-breaking golds
of the giant willows.
Marry me, marry me
shouted the cardinal in his tall tree
while the goldfinch giggled
I am nothing but light.