she’s 70 degree miracles
in the dead of a hellish summer
Steve Miller Band’s "The Joker"
with the windows rolled all the way down
glossy strawberry rosebuds
left on the rim of old crystal glasses
and curling up sideways
catlike
in armchairs near windows
where the evening light becomes honey
she’s the pages of "Practical Magic"
we’ve dogeared together
and kite string strands of hazelton hair
loose from a messy french braid
just like now
drifting in front of curious eyes

look,

she’s laughing in the same shade
of fire-lit gold as the aspen
that whisper overhead,

have you ever seen anything so beautiful before?

no,

I answer honestly.

not even once.