Found

Rummaging through containers
of old seeds and garden twine
he found a pair of amber earrings
and brought them to her
in a small white swan,
some plastic wedding favor
from a distant cousin’s nuptials—

the opalescent swan
bending it’s pearly head
like a ride in a park lake
holding the precious amber bits
in the hollow of it’s back, a gift,

and all the delicious smells and
distant sounds, the shape of the shops
in that pastel Mexican village
where jewelry was purchased
come gliding back, leaving a wake
on the surface of time spent there
a vast lake of recollection

with it’s own depths and golden liquidity,
smelling like desert mountain air
corn and peppers and sugar
in autumn, the year they escaped
convoluted holiday suppers in the states

and hid in another language,
a feast far from turkeys
with mariachi bands
playing tunes while she wore
the novel amber ornaments,
honey resin set in silver
swaying in the garden courtyard
overflowing with tropical bougainvillea,
fountains flowing

and the two of them hiding
for a season
seemed so obvious,
a sensible decision

making it all right to wait
sleepy in the afternoons,

waiting for improved
timing to reappear,
as the amber earrings
have recalled.