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Last summer:
   The faint melody of an old folk-rock tune
   threading its way through June-breezy curtains
brought memory of another June--a lifetime ago!--
when sunshine flowed like weightless lava
over bed-sheets rumpled and damp,
at the glowing edge of our adolescence.

Last fall:
   The scent of crab cooking, carried by steam
   into the alley from the restaurant kitchen
brought a memory of another autumn--decades long since gone!--
when we traveled to the head of a distant island bay
where eagles wheeled high over the spruce-clad shore,
lifting our eyes above the boxes we grew up in.

Last winter:
   A glimpse of a famous photograph
   on the cover of next year's calendar on display
brought memory of another winter's eve--years and years gone by!--
when we struggled to walk through a blizzard
for blocks that seemed like miles:
wind in our faces and snow in our boots,
to spend three days snowed in and snug.

   The taste of your lips: earthy-sweet-rich,
   and the touch of them softer than kittens' feet:
brings memory of this spring morning
when your lips spoke my name, and birds sang.
Then I knew afresh, again: there is only one Love,
and it's all we are.

Copyright 1997 and 2018, William Alan Bruce Maloney
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