Feb 1

I find myself in February again,

My love had eyes that sparkle
Clear in the winter sun, 

And pour they did joy like a river

In a rushing Spring run. 

She looked through them in glasses

As she worked her way down

A page. Reading, then removing 

Them, I can still hear her voice,
That smile, her soft breath. 

The color and pitch bounce around

In my head, trying to remember

Small words or fragments

Of sound, something takes me

Back to that space, that place, 

Where the purpose of my being

Was to be in her presence, being there

And nothing more. A happiness.
So I write her a month of love songs.
I call it Leslie.
Why? She says, why my name?

Leslie,
I love you.
Mark