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From the window of my father’s car
 
Golden hairs upon my arm,

corn silks blowing in the wind,

Wave goodbye to summer.

Hair, now gold to silver grain

Receding now, 

I’m leaving, once again.

A thumbing mind goes flipping past

Garages, stores, and street-lamps, fast 

as ages mirrored in the storefronts
 
Move my life’s reflection through
 
each passing windows' glass

Lying on a beach I look at clouds
 
Hands held high, fingers pointing,

Watching through these sunlit tears 

The close encounters I have had
 
With love.

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