up and down the blazingstarred hills of Lexington,
the butterscotch coins from Campbell House,
melting in our mouths.
I watched the line in the center of the road,
stitch itself to blacktop,
and return to being alone again.
Those were golden moments
when the sun rang loudly
over warblers on barren february branches,
and our voices sang from the windows,
like tiger-moths in their spiraling frenzy
toward the light.