Wood and skin, warmed by the sun.
The coffee she drank before she kissed me.
The breeze cooling my bare toes.
Her face. It’s never the same. Today, I want to brush my fingertips over freckles she may or may not have.
‘It’s beginning. Can you feel it?’
‘Don’t look at the sun.’
‘I know,’ she says. ‘It’s okay. I got those eclipse glasses.’
I see what she sees. I lost my sight in 99, I don’t want her to lose hers.