Often I blink back the years
To yesterdays stories,
In bright sunlit days of camp or town:
The magical glen on a sandy beach,
Where closeting oak nearly lap the wavelets
And our tents and fire, our canoes and towels,
Don't intrude on nature but nestle in her palms:
The vacation never to be forgotten.
The celebration of Mardi Gras on my birthday,
With Wonder Woman leading the trolley car of strangers
In singing to me; the day-long party,
with impossible amounts of beads and doubloons.
The secret kiss with a friend -- soon after gone asleep.
Of dogs loved long, cats that ruled,
and tiny parakeets that sat on aquariums
with tails stuck in the water for fish to nudge;
Of motorcycle stunts in super-dome traps,
And Audubon Park with children and music.
These shining moments are sealed in amber
Always kept, but never to be fully revisited
without destroying the magic that encases them.
So it must be - memories are not
an invitation to the dance, rather, they are
the fondly preserved dance-card that reminds us
of the life-partners with whom we have taken a spin.
