I wish I could tell you of the
wind and the way it was blowing today,
hair all over your face,
just the way you like it.
I wish I could take the water droplets
from the sprinklers we used to play in
and splash them again into your face,
just to hear the hysterical laughter
of our younger days.
I wish I could haul back the hours
with a rope through time
to a trampoline in July,
when we threw ourselves up into the air
and tomorrow was just another today
and life was nothing but a wild leap;
we came crashing down into
back up again,
your face the one constant
in a moving rush of air,
without our knowing,
slipped quietly over the horizon,
and into our scrapbooks.