Spring has come and, with it, the mornings fragrant with lilacs
When light streams past freshly-leaved trees
To marble the moist earth.
We often walked this narrow path together,
From our home to the crest of the bare, blustery hill.
There we stopped to watch whitecaps and sea oats.
Nearly as often, we stayed home, nude in bed.
While the coffee percolated over a blue flame,
I kissed your ribs and breasts and touched your hair.
The dogs lazed, and dust dappled the light beams.
But nostalgia and unrequited love make for blue memories;
They are like dull, serrated knives scratching at the heart.
I moved houses long ago, shook out the old ghosts
As if snapping a mat to rid it of dust. Such phantoms
Are unwelcome companions for the jaunty spirit.
And I’ve presented myself to a future more modern:
Where artificial intelligence fights against cancer,
Where billionaires drive electric cars.
Still—when spring blossoms, and the air’s sweet perfume
Is beholden to lilacs—involuntary memory recalls you.
I am holding a new lover’s hand, so I take the reminiscence,
Put it gently back to rest, and move forward with her,
As the bright sun lights and warms our faces.
