Command or description, I want
to glow as I walk through my day,
as I glide through the halls
of the nursing home where I find you
dozing in your bed. I want you
to see how I’m learning to float,
the air thinning between our kisses.
And yet, the weight—harvest of moon
and fruit heavy with sugar. In August
heat I lift a melon, smell this long
summer pressed against the earth,
what I will carry to you tomorrow,
offering slices of remembrance.