when you are an old woman
sitting in your hand carved
beautifully curved, oaken rocker
reading cummings, blake
seamus heaney and shakespeare
you will look past the gathering dust
     in the late afternoon light
your long, soft, white, silken hair
gleaming within your shining aura
smile and think of me
drifting in the longago ether
look past the sunstream
        with your right hand
                        wave to a nearby tree
                        wave into the soft breeze
               the tree waves back
             a thousand leaves
for that one
  we will touch in the now

[ to Alyssa ]