Miles slide by so easily this day --
this day that marks your birth --
that logs my course.
This ease, in recent years,
has been as lost
as memories of the easy miles we shared.
Even more lost, I guess,
since you and they have visited at times,
never bringing ease when you have come.
Today is a reunion.
I welcome all the ghosts,
and all of me,
while the ease comes on its own;
I hadn't thought to send an invitation.
This wasn't even planned,
any more than the sweetest of our memories had been.
(the wind turned this morning,
and so did I --
turned onto a route
that cautious habits had avoided)
Samson seems glad to see me,
rushing up to the fence,
nuzzling his nose against my chest,
as I stand under our tree.
He misses you, though;
he won't take the snack I offer him
(little bits of Cliff bar
were sweeter from you hand).
I think he fell for you that day,
as surely as I had done when our eyes met,
earlier that Spring,
before the red of allergins
had marked them so well matched --
as matched as coupled hearts.
He senses my peace,
but doesn't claim his own --
watching for your approach,
ready to stand guard
as he had done that day,
when you and I had left bikes in his care,
had hopped the fence,
and had succumbed to a different hay fever.
© RAM 3/1/99