The day was clean, neither ordinary nor tragic.

I saw
you,
stilled by your tall grass lying.
What kind of lover would I be if
I did not yearn to sit beside you,
and rest awhile?
Open a white-picket hymnal to find fate
using his orneriness
to baptize us.
If the water’s warm, we can slip off our suits and
reclaim the nakedness of innocence.  
My willingness to believe
in the healing that comes from cold jelly  
sandwiches with too much peanut butter  
is a testament to the America
I will fight to discover.

It was her lips, he thought, the way spit flew across their pinkness made him squirm.