we were running in the evening air
the top of the hill our finish line
both of us panting at the end
she so near to me I tingled
as a mist of breath caressed my cheek
this morning boys jog in the park
a tall girl swings on a low tree branch
yearlings faces not yet marked
they feel the sunlight on their face
dampness of the still-wet grass
later we were together close
in the deepest corner of the empty house
the scents of hair and skin and earth
all the many colors
of the end
and the beginning
So Cal Yankee 