It’s the way the
Eleven a.m.
Sunlight comes in
Through the parallel
Spaces between the
Shingles of the
Blinds on my bedroom
Windows and buzzes
In glowing lines
That showcase the
Contours of your
Exposed back
While you sleep off
last night’s activities
On your stomach.

It’s the way the
Water runs down your
Forehead and around
Your nose
And through your hair
As you resurface
From underneath the
Cold water at the
Old preindustrial
Quarry in this
Postindustrial town
And the arc of the
Water drops
That sparkle in the October
Sunlight as you throw
Your head back to
Whip the hair
Out of your eyes
And the smile that
Blooms like marigolds
When you see that
Your beautiful hair
Has hit me square
In the face
And the laughter
That ensues.

It’s the way the
Back of your
Car makes me feel
When I watch
It driving
Away forever.