Remembering the sun

Found this old poem from the summer time, folded up and coffee stained in the console of my car~

This summer her legs are longer,
her skin darker with sun,
her eyes more watchful and her words more candid.

She is still full of clumsy youthfullness, spills and forgetfullness.
She still leaves quakes and messes in her wake.
But now, the grass that grows midsummer does not cover as much of her,
she wanders farther now from the pastures of home,
she demands less attention as the world around her demans her imagination.

This summer she can hold her breath longer,
she can swim deeper
and emerge from the river's bottom with bigger rocks in her hands.

This summer, she dances under the garden hose,
an absolute freestyle verse of summer,
the grass and topsoil collecting the drops
her skin does not absorb.