In spring, my sunken eyes opened to find
a girl too young to launch a ship, but old
enough to walk with me to Rivertide,
where sunlight, filtered by the slouching oak,
casts shifting lights on blooming, weedy ground.
We took the path along the ragged coast,
it winds around so lovers can't be found.
She laughed and sang as if she were alone.
We found the docks and sailed a blue canoe;
beneath a bridge, I stood and hit my head;
she braced the boat, and then she held my wound.
Pure virgin youth was stained from where I bled.
A hummingbird flew nearer as we kissed:
my love returning: hungry, tentative.