in the garden
between
impatiens
and an ash
tray. Sun
shines down,
reflects from
your collarbones.
I turn
raspberries
from white
to red.
Sun flashes off
the birdbath. Now,
1 hour later,
we dance
between concrete
and thyme.
Breeze churns
clouds, turbulent
and you
dance
into
rain.
Amy Pajewski 