She thinks about men often. The way some people think about death. Doing dishes, falling asleep wrapped in a comforter somebody gave her. One in particular, this town reminds her of him. Hazel eyes, pools of honey, a field glowing, cooling in the sunset. She knew of his departure before she knew she wanted to kiss his clean mouth. And still there was pain, exquisite at the heart of things. Laughter on clear winter nights, warming her hands beneath his arms. She watches wildflowers begin to bloom in the meadow and feels the whisper of him inside her.