We cross a field
by the cottage
where I live
with my parents

the sun is warm
and the sky
a blue and white cloth
above our heads

it's Saturday
I have spent part
of the morning
up the farm

weighing milk
and cleaning out
cowsheds
Jane wants to show me

a small river
where there are fish
and now and then
unusual butterflies

can you fish there?
I ask
some do
but very few

she says
but it is good
to see them
swimming by

with their lovely colours
I look at her
as she relates the details
but I am not listening

so much to her words
as the music of her voice
and the brightness
of her dark eyes

her black hair
is drawn back
into a ponytail
and I am there

beside her
and I feel like
touching her hands
as she shows me

the size of the fish
but I don't just
sense her there
her being

the almost purity
of her
and butterflies float by
quite innocent

she says smiling
and now and then
if one is gentle
one can hold them

in the palms
of the hands
and just open up
enough to see

them there
opening and closing
their wings
like small bellows

I study her
her lips moving
the lips
opening and closing

like landed fish
and yet I had kissed
them before
but don't want

to just kiss
without her
knowing before hand
but how to ask

to kiss?
we cross about
three fields
I tell her

about my morning
at the farm
and the farm dog
a black mutt

who bit me
one morning
and show her
my scar on the arm

and she touches it
and her fingers
seem almost healing
and sends through

my whole body
an electric
buzzing feeling.