Sometimes I get angry at my heart
for all the foolishness it has gotten me into.
It seems to have never been afraid of folly.

It reminds me of meeting you at that café,
my silly gift in hand before you took mine in yours.

This Spring afternoon, many years later,
with a bright sun working hard, I watch you
attentively watering the plants in our yard,
indebted to foolishness and all it has given me.