Blue eyed in a blue coat,

your hair was a road of rich earth

laid long across your back.

You were thirteen that lush

budded summer, and

it was your first day back to school.

You moved like a

signature unspooling;

Your body was a cursive B,

your legs as long as l’s.

Your fingers curled in gentle e’s.

You spelled beautiful with the most

delicate hand.

If I could have followed you to class,

and walked the road along your spine,

I'd have made your hair my ink--

and wrote a word

for ” sheltered path”

too slender, but for us.