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?
