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.