First Look

             Lover’s Heat

          Come morning, the sun flies in bold
                    strident steps over the meadow.

          Golden pleated trousers caress
                    each blade of grass, gilds to amber
                    each ripple in a bisecting stream.

          His long fingers thread through leaves
                    so shot with light
                    they quiver under his touch.

          Oh, to be those leaves, those blades of grass,
                    those glistening little shoals
                    that secret a promise of life’s renewal,

          all damp with want and longing
                    for their lover’s stroking heat.


                                   Aleigha Siron