Thin clouds smear against clear sky
like questions in white chalk being erased
or like streaks of tears
just before they have evaporated.
On this sun-glorious morning,
steeped in blue, I am crying.
Is it strange grief does not bother me?
The river is higher again today
as the snow from high peaks starts to melt.
I stare at the spot on the bank
where we used to stand and throw rocks,
squealing with pleasure
as the water splashed and formed rings.
The kingfisher clicks as he follows the shoreline,
his beak a needle stitching this moment
to the past. I, too, am melting,
melting into this generous morning,
forgetting who I am, then remembering again,
everything blurs, oh this beautiful dissolution,
the tears almost cool, the sun so warm.