When the cop cars’ spotlights roved the bank
where we’d been skinny-dipping
all those years ago
we ducked into the field,
lay parallel in a furrow
to wait them out.
My arm brushed
yours. That much
I recall. Our nakedness
bright against
the spinning dark
of that wind-tossed field. And though the past
still springs up
like a Swiss Army blade,
I see us
not as I would’ve seen us then,
but from above:
two specks,
two hungry white specks,
in God’s feral iris.