Love that burned his fingers

Johny
I didn't realize you were there
when we ate the grapes
right out of their skin-
it was a simple luxury
that I had forgotten.

And as we ran,
through the most peculiar rain
in the fields where the cattle used to be
and were not then-
I don't know if you knew that-
you were there
and I didn't notice.

The fireflies came out
and a man I called "Other John"
when I was small showed us
love that burned his fingers
every year,
I called him John then
because you weren't around.

And when we danced
on that tire swing
it was a different red-
and moved to a different tree
that was bigger,
because we were bigger,
and you were there
and I don't know how
I didn't notice.