He recognized her by the stain in the metal.
He remembered her by the price of a gallon of gasoline.
When she put her long piano fingers on his left shoulder,
he recalled the one song she recorded,
her soft voice, her kora, her lute, her mandolin,
the electric guitar she made by hand.
Yes, what they claim is true:
When they walked past the bakery of hot, fresh scones,
the scent bubbled up within him and he tasted her,
the steaming crust of pastry and skin, the way day began
so many years ago, sitting outside with her,
the sky a regal blue, clean without congestion.
What happened to me? he asked.
What happened to us? she answered.
Let’s get a scone, he said gladdened by her response,
and remember everything good in this world.
and they entered the bakery to heaven.