Summer

Summers are for living.

Sidewalks are warm.

Trees are lush.

Moments are too bright and fast for words.

Poetry Lives

I don't remember 
meeting you 
the first time
but this time
you brought a poem 
for my mom
on her birthday.

You both sat quietly
while I stood there
bowed head
paper in hand
eyes recognizing words
that could be my own.

When I looked up 
(my eyes swirling
with hope and wonder and love)
you smiled and said,
"I made that copy for you."