Wrist Deep

A Sonnet Plus The Line About You

The trees are not in full thrush
though their petals litter the ground.
The smell of first spring rain brings on
memories of walking only. But please,

let’s not be coy, as if you didn't know
what new rain against old asphalt smelled like.
Raw, distinguished, like waking up
in a room you smoked in all night.

I used to walk to school every day,
passed smiling at the old women
jogging the other way. Then, as fog
slipped into the field thick like a slug,

I, like a child, slipped under sheets toward the fence,
while in my dreams you we're sleeping, very beautifully,
and we disappeared into the distance.