D J Cawood
Under a spreading elm tree
we sit and talk.
I trace the pale blue vein along your arm
to where it bulges at the warm hollow underside
of your elbow, like a tiny creek
pooling in a coulee.
I see scars on your wrist, kiss them
tenderly and look into your eyes.
I see a past filled with pain, with loneliness.
I cannot fill your needs,
not as a lover
only as a friend.
A trace of tears trickles down your cheeks,
drips onto my finger.
I touch your face to stop the flow, taste
the salty residue.
A smile forms on your lips,
your eyes dance with joy.
I wonder why, but say nothing.
We both break out in laughter
infectious as yawns, fall onto
the warm grass to catch our breath
and lie still
side by side.
I look up and see a thousand leaves,
form spidery patterns from the center line
to their outer ridged edges.