The fireworks
of fire flies,
glowing in the dark,
flashes quickly fading.

We sit in our rockers on the screened porch,
holding hands on the arm rests
as we rock the evening away.

Some times,
I see myself at thirteen,
walking you home from the corner candy store,

suddenly in love,

since six minutes ago,
when you,
your fingers on my shoulders,
I,
my hands on your hips.
first time kissed,
the sweet taste of you on my lips,
a dim street-lamp chopa
illuminates the moment.

I’m thinking,
“I’m never moving from this spot.”

But, of course, we must.

So,
holding hands,
you, smiling,
gazing at your shoes,
I, beaming,
trying to levitate your house
further down the block.
We arrive at your gate.

Blushing,
we,
never again to be the children we were,
whisper,”Good night…”,

then a life time pause,

kiss again.

You
float inside,

I
glide the stairs to
the solidity of sidewalk.

Unexpected,

you squeeze my hand,
the memory, shimmering there, still.

You whisper,
“What are you smiling about?”

I answer,

” Oh, nothing…

Look!

How beautiful
the fire flies!”