Category Archives: Anne Britting Oleson

LATE SPRING

Through the window
I watch you secretly:

wind spins you about,
twirls the pink sundress
around your scraped knees,
flushes your cheeks
under the gold dust of freckles.

Does it tear the song from your voice,
steal your sunny laughter?
Will it whirl you from me
if I turn away for a moment?