On the first day of spring

I drove by that place you took me once

because your father was still

building those beautiful houses

that were still only bones of themselves.

We could only see the darkness

that lay between the framed wood.

It filled our imaginations with delight,

and so we parked and kissed deeply.

Now those moments are etched

in our hearts like matching tattoos or the stained-glass windows

on the finished house that even your mother’s strident disapproval

couldn’t remove. I want to share this with you

as the sun melts the snow and leaves.

The crocuses are blissfully naked and dripping.

This is the moment I chose for you to relive with me now

as it should have been then.