Seven steps before dawn

We spin, mud splattered,
to yesterday's polka,
eyes wrinkled in laughter,
tongues out to catch the rain;
tangle in motherly grasses
and fall.

You stare,
white with rain,
bare as winter skin,
mad as garden wax,
peach juice delicious.

My two-minute storm boy,
my love.

Suzanne Aigrain, 2003