Autumn, 1997

I liked to do the dance when something went my way---

the one where I pretended that my smile went in slow motion

and you thought I was prettier than I knew to be the case

I had dreams about your fingertips

and about your eyes were immune to aging

and I worried about the stamina of these knees

and what you had been known to do to them

under a moonlit serenade

On the side of the road---

I imagined the leaves were the start of something great

and I wondered if you saw them fall

and I wondered if you saw me

if you ever saw me at all