at odd hours, it 
                 all comes back to him, or 

                 she does -- 

he could not have been that young. 

(years steal our possibilities, 
 giving them
             to strangers.) 

how old would she be now? 

summers were made of warmth, and 
so
   was
       she

           he imagines.

was it all a fantasy?

if so, 

why can he still smell the water, and

hear
     the

         laughter?