Reflections

Well I did want to talk about love,
But there’s so little that I wish to know about it.

Crinkling like tinfoil in bright sun,
Folding over, captured in the new moon air,
Creeping over the window sills,

Climbing through the pumpkin patches.
Sinking into the inner rooms,
leaving copies of itself along the way

Peaches covered in thick fresh cream
Brown sugar cane and dark molasses,
A grassy path in a secret wood

Reflections on Second Avenue