Wild garlic after sudden rain
that left as suddenly –
each curlicue sunlit again –
was part of all that kept her lonely:
they’d noticed it, like everything,
every spring. The first
year alone, surely, you’d think,
would be hardest, worst.
It’s not, she said. I felt her shoulder.
We walked back to our cars,
hugged. She left. I glanced back over
their million stars.
