On the back steps we sat
and ate our pears in the warm wind.
The world was as quiet as
the lawnmower next door and the droning bugs.
Across the yard looking with a closeness,
I could see a bird swoop,
tiny bugs of dust and
the weeping willow, swaying.
The sun quickened through the overhead green
and shone on little brown feet
that were dirty, no doubt;
mine were newly cleaned.
We ate our pears together.
Me, already thinking of how to capture it;
she, quietly wiser than I.
She, the little one.
And the willow tree
waited in the air, a weeper of time but newer than me.
It stirred and smiled in the shade.
And it wasn't thinking of tomorrow.