Warm-Eyed Memory

While I wait for my next student
the morning lies around like
a sloppy nude that the sky strokes
with sunshine. A thicket of aspens
sprouts from a knoll, glitters in
the mountain’s breath, birds play
hide-and-seek behind a veil of clouds
draped from two peaks. I am too
absent-minded to notice the lounging
slut on my doorstep who tries
to wish me with wren songs and
a black-and-yellow caterpillar.
Your neat, warm-eyed memory moves
in and out of my thoughts until
a crunch on the gravel walk
turns me to my day.