by standing in the bar where we met.
I’m talking to a woman
with a moth tattoo.
It’s too easy to follow her
back to April, still sweatshirt season.
You are mopping the floor gloriously.
Your moth flutters with the motion
like it’s drawn to the lights.
I tug your hair from your hat,
another excuse for touch.
The future doesn’t scare me.
I can always go back to the morning
you showed up on my porch.
I couldn’t believe it!
You kneeled with a bag of dirt &
planted me a tomato.