Returned From Mexico
You came back full of shine,
the light of long gold
southern beaches on you.
Surf lines peeled like one big
promise line of twirlers,
dusty pink light on every curl.
Oh Lee. You hunt the sun
the way I do, as if it saves.
But hereʻs the thing, it moves.
The sun forever backing up
while calling us to touch it.
Tonight it gilds my glass of wine.
I photograph a wall of gold
so wide the glory hurts,
then kiss you before
anything can dim.
