I slip the book from its shelf and remember:
Gold light, autumn through tall windows,
Washing the scene in nostalgia even then.
You were the long girl searching
For Virginia Woolf in the woods.
I was the silly boy in the hat.
I bought this book I hold right now.
You smelled lightly of lemon drops.
It wasn’t the first time we met.
We left separately.
I put down the book and open
The bedroom door—just a crack.
The reading lamp throws gold light
Across your sleeping face.
My long girl of my long years!
