Poem: How It Happens

How It Happens

From a distance, you see a flash of shoulder,
the gentle curve of her flesh
and you are suddenly young again,
whether it is a first love or the final one
not mattering. Only the moment where
memory and now merge into some kind
of transportive portrait
and you are in love again.
Always again.

About this poem

Spawned by the briefest of moments this morning. Being in love at my age is a special kind of blessing.

The photograph was taken at a Renaissance Festival in Sterling, NY.


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