Small silver crests peak and roll
on a lake bordered
by rustling, sun-tipped pines,
while the black wings of crow slice blue sky.
Long strands of brunette hair lift, float
framing dark brown eyes, brushing rose-tinted lips,
her ripening body supine, in rhythm
with the gentle roll of
the sun-bleached dock.

Walking away
her hand seeks mine,
nestles, then stays—
a moment at 12, almost 50
daughter and mother
the wind
the love
made visible.

For Kate