A Poem A Day, Poem #29

when you somewhere speak there is an air that
surrounds us like the branches of some remember
tree where the leaves might as well be pages blowing
away the words we once spoke when we were younger and
stupider, but happier hanging onto the brightest starshine
from the kisses floating in our eyes

and what value do we apply to these cloudy comedies of
a kiss where we taste some rain years later, caught--
everything ascending into spring--when we are wise and old
and reflecting on the gauzy wash that memories make when
you count the veins of this tree's leaves with those
slightly dumber fingers touching these tired lips for the
last time--
combing through the sand of words--
counting kisses--