4^th

Sum­mers are get­ting poignant. When I was younger the summer’s were relent­lessly, joy­ously mov­ing in one direc­tion, like a river. They unfolded new and with­out a past. Now I still float along in my sum­mer, but I am see­ing them through the eyes of mem­ory even as I live them new, now. Or maybe…

the fresh new girl­friend
wears a lost lover’s per­fume:
46^th summer.