Tailgate confessions and the brush of your shoulder
were the moments I wished to be infinite.
Those hazy afternoons still clinging to your skin
swirling around us in a cloud
of all things you:
hay, smoke, diesel, and sunlight.
Your calloused hand gripping mine,
tracing tiny circles with your thumb
to match the galaxies
of starry blankets above us.
Bottom ground corn fields
like an oversize nightlight,
catching the full moon with the sway of stalks.
I liked your voice best then-
when it lost its bladed edge and turned
gentle as the leaves dancing together
at the top of the hill.
Copyright © 2016 Pearl Bayou