somewhere in summer, where red cherries sat in a bowl, glistening, and where her skinny lemon bicycle
and her daiquiri ice top sat discarded, aside
          —somewhere in her summer she grew up.
it was in between caressing winds and delicious sunlight,
sparkling through windows, drawing locusts on her face, his face.
     it was somewhere before summer had started, rising;
          it was somewhere after summer had ended, profound sadness.
               it was summer herself, joyous and hopeful and alive and buoyant,
it was in the middle of touches and kisses and sighs that she grew up.
italy, 1984.