Written in Spain in August 2022.
Bleached
Your hair is slightly bleached
by the sun, your skin tanned.
This is your time of year,
you have bloomed as the red flowers
in the trees around us.
And, like them, you will fade
with the summer heat, cocooned
as autumn and winter enfold you
in their scarves, gloves and coats.
In spring you will wake, a soft smile
turning to a June laugh.
I watch your lips now, the corners
turned up as your eyes close
in the hot August air.
We do not speak. The sound
of waves on the rocks
is all we need.
August 2022
