In a recent photo
I sit on a patio
we used to enjoy,
leaning back, drink
in hand, smiling.

Early summer,
so nice to be outside
before the heavy heat arrived.

But I find it strange that I can still smile
so easily

after leaving the room
where you lay
for the last time.

I can see
sharing this with you,
at another of
our places –

twin green bowls
on a high top,
salt rims
close
to touching,
illuminated by
dimming light
still dancing
across the stone floor patio.

Maybe nearby servers clap –
marching and masked
luchadores. Or the old man
sings
with amp and guitar,
songs from Blue Hawaii.

But I share my sad thought,
and you –
arms resting on the table,
long blue sleeves
cuffed at the elbow,
allow

that old, familiar smirk
to break across
your lined and tanned face,
telling me
I have said something foolish
once again.