The girl looks down at the boy¹s hand,
the back of her neck gently meeting the edge
of her blue dress. The boy also watches
his own wrist as the girl¹s thin, white fingers
fumble to tie a white bracelet around it.

Their hair stream in the wind whispering
through the park. Loud laughter, screams,
intrusive stares linger in the Sunday air.

But the two are smiling, clipped words come
from their lips and their bodies confess
that their eyes, though unseen, do shimmer.
She breathes deeply as a tuft of his hair
touches her cheeks.

I shift
uncomfortably in my bench
but I keep watching, charmed
by the carefulness with which they handle
the delicate string of snowy beads.

When the last knot is done,
they both look up at the heavy sky.
I stand up to leave,
expecting rain.

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