Promises

I have cherished these things with some restraint

from early days to shriveled age as though the

seasons had let me know all, of the passing magnificence

of those mid-year days, of baking hotness and

vicious delight, of yellows, greens, and purples

that inset themselves behind these eyes

like the bends around a fallen oak

There are shouting trucks that alarm the birds and

beating cries from pre-pubescent lungs covered

dim and dark by the cherry red of these later

dinner cigarettes

Everything looks so new to me flipping through

pictures of us in these Instagrams,

an excess of dust and brew jars squashed by us and

following it, in the middle, sitting someplace

behind us she waves, a distinctive figure there to remind us

that a few guarantees do blur.