Not as old as this house I am still old wading through less certain days and knees high quick march tears from senses bombarded by everything heart running to catch up knowing not all tears are unhappy joy and its lacewing followers surround my memories of you
It’s my life up to now with its camp follower memories thirsty for acknowledgement wanting to do their chorus line kicks before time runs out senses ambushed by everything
It does not take much does it a lemon hiding its sharp tongue in a cheerful skin but once married to sugar or butter is a blanket of surprises
A remembered tomato eaten seconds off the vine warm in the hot sun Socks pulled onto cold feet the quick bliss of warmth a soft second skin
The cut and scrape of a hand turned can opener to reveal humble tuna The deep heart of color in an emerald
Honey carrying its own geography to the tongue A window open to the dense night of a city summer and a mockingbird sings near the fountain steps I imagine it a nightingale
Movies in childhood red and gold palaces of escape sitting in the dark impatient for the approaching light and color and sound calling from the screen
The angle of later light the heart’s golden hour slowly pressed into star filled night