Leaves, resembling flushed cheeks
And newly harvested grain
In the sunset, drift
Downward in loops and twists
Showering my body
Like cool fingertips,
Tickling my arms.

The cool grass warms below my touch.
Its damp blades kiss my thighs.

My back molds
Into the contours of the rough oak—
Crinkled and cracked like an elderly smile.
Above a mocker cries
Blissfully happy,
Singing praise and calling in
The new time.

The sun glints through bleached clouds
In the perfectly blue sky,
Reflecting off my skin
Covering me, like a quilt
With golden warmth.

The wind pulses
Like a infant heartbeat, fast and strong,
My hair thrown in its long arms
Like a football
Back and forth.