Any Act Of Kindness Poem by James McLain

Young skin has a memory, there was a time when
mine did.
Translucent unscarred,
like a book I once read the catcher in the rye.
I didn't care that her legs were uneven,
or that the fruit
hung low and out of reach beneath the tall tree.

As she worked, I moved closer to the window,
the glass in the window to was uneven.
An old rag tag mixture of lead inside was colored.
The sky was blue and cloudless.
The sun was just reaching it's majestic hight.

She is to me,
what you are to him and when we are touching it's
like those clouds, just out of reach are
now wrapped around us