Untitled

Some number inside of you
must be the right number
from when we started counting
when the world was newer
than it is now, but more fragile
slanting into night, some
returning to our counting —
who knew these number things
would still matter now
inside us

Beside a blue lake

You were a warm summer afternoon
a soft summer dress, so light
that being alive was a timeless thing
like the fragrance of an orange,
a bowl of honey, a song of new green 
from heart to memory now, twilight
beside a blue lake, under a forest of stars

— Both from my notebook

photo credits
(where not otherwise credited)

“Cloud sky” / photograph by Jr Korpa on Unsplash.com