Where the bank slopes
down to the river is
where we'd sit,
despite the wet kiss
and murmur on the leaves
of spring rains ebbing and
flowing in gentle pour,
or the vacillating caress
or slap of sunlight draping
over the leaning trees,
boughs reflected in
shimmering green
upon the roaming river
until the worn red of the
bridge's brick arches distract
our eyes before they
refocus upon each other,
smiling our moments
before the drinks arrive.
