My digits fidget as he comes
down. We’ve done this
before. But it was so long ago
it collected dust. And that dust covered over

everything like a woolen blanket in the spring. It left me
sweating under its heat. It once was sweet as blueberry pie,
when we were much younger, and this was fresh
as morning’s sunrise. But now felt awkward,

as a fish out of water flopping itself over, struggling
to get back to blue. Blue is a shade that has been familiar
for the past ten years. And I want to overturn it before
it turns green as copper from the stuffiness of us –

the weight of mistrust.
If he could hold these hands,
cover the children maybe they’d settle down,
become the sunset, which would equally be profound