Clove memory lingers, jasmine overwhelms,
the half moon in a blue sky falls and a hot sun rises.
You stand over by the railing; jazz musicians play.
I stand watching a river through a camera; hikers stream by.
A rainbow over the highway holds a flock of storks in its arch; our hands touch. And touch again. We read a book, watch a movie.
From these, we braid a narrative thread: You and I live.
Agate remembers light, limestone recalls salt, anemones represent red and lemons recollect rain. My coat slips over your shoulder; we sit to listen.
Your timbre warms the lens’ view;
our feet grow tired. The dissolution of now re-deems its essence
when haunting memory;
our hands touch. And touch again. We watch a movie, read a book.
From these, we weave a cloak of identity: we are.