There on the path
she stands,
the evening sun
sculpting her face
with light and shade.

An on-shore wind
has dressed the curls
in her hair and
between expressions
she’s composed,
in charge of herself,

hand on her camera,
almost a smile
on those petalled lips
he loves to brush
and rest his tongue
between and kiss,

and there behind her
a backdrop:
a river
on the ebb,
a shoreline path
of Maytime green,
and a sky of floating
*cumulus mediocris.