Walking together in the park
When light soft and fading
Turns aspen leaves gold

Along paths lined with pines
I pick puffs of dandelions and
Blow seeds to airborne grace

And I tell her I never knew a place
So perfect with trees in foliage quivering
Where topmost leaves meet the sky

Silhouetted in last light aspens and oaks
Stand like figures projected across
A window shade on summer nights

I stare at needle covered branches
Of fine machining as if they were
In a jeweler’s display case

And even as junkmen on my street
Tie down and move their shit in pickups
I smell lilies of the valley that we picked

Never knowing a place so perfect
That I cannot touch it but must wait
To be touched on June nights