Here, under a Ruidoso sky, You remind me: An extraordinarily warm spring day Spent in a field somewhere In Lancaster County, PA. Where exactly? Well, now, I could not really say. I’d never find it again, Even after taking the memory Down off the shelf And dusting the cobwebs away. I remember the day in snapshots Before we trampled, stomped, burned our youth: The drive from Baltimore In your little black sports car. The top down. The wind Running its fingers through Your copper hair. The glitter of your crystalline eyes In the morning sunshine. The softness of 501 jeans washed A thousand times. Your artist’s soul looking for the Perfect spot, rejecting several Before perfection found, A sun-drenched meadow amid Pine trees. No Amish around, you said. The care you took with blankets And picnic basket and, of course, Your ever-present sketchbook. Cheeses, bread, fruits, and wine You packed. I read. You sketched. We ate and drank. Then, I posed for you, The first time. No one was around. No one could see, You said and so You shucked me Of clothing and Arranged me And my long black curls. You sketched me And said you wished you Had your paints. Copper and black hair Tangled together. And the sun low In the sky. We Packed the basket And folded the blanket. Some 40, 41 years ago. Snapshots of that day. Why remind me now? We trampled, stomped, burned our Youth down. Oh, yes. we could tease "Here come and sit, where never serpent hisses, And being set, I'll smother thee with kisses." We’d do nothing better in the Here and the now were we to tangle Silver and white together. Lies were told, I know. For once, I wanted to believe. Your truth telling services, I do not need… And the tangling of silver and white now, just-- The braiding of loneliness and longing Leaves us soulless.