I recall my hands upon the earth:
Delicate, squeaky blades of grass,
soft, dry dirt beneath.
I dug in,
dark crests of that which supports life
beneath my fingernails,
earth contained
within clenched fists.

"good morning" every morning
and a warm smile,
a wistful sigh sometimes

unsettlingly deep
sweetly intense
dark and gleaming brown eyes
looking toward me, for me
again and again and again

he said my smile was like
a spring morning

and i was afraid,
aggravatingly afraid

cold and bemused
careful blue eyes
looking away and away
and away