So warm we opened up the house today.
The lilacs had come out. I named and took
Lupine and ferns, a blue flower with a white
Eye in its pit, Brunnera in the book.

We worked together. Face to face we washed
The cabin windows, rubbing contrariwise.
Cutting through weather, grease, we almost made
Invisible the glass between our lives.

The woods grew quiet and the sun slowed down.
Silent and thoughtless, with nothing to resist,
We were healing, and didn't try to talk.
I saw, heavy with light upon my wrist,

Each hair swing slowly with my polishing.
Then drawn by forces I cannot describe,
Lifted from being over redwood plains
Through burning glass, I entered your clear eyes.

That evening, when the neighbor's child came over,
She didn't mention as he usually will
The dark character she fears inside the shower
Who lives down the drain, and causes ill.