First Impressions

July 19 2020

First impressions.

Which should by all rights be singular;

once

at a glance

first time.

Like a small swift dinosaur

flitting over some creek bed

of soft receptive clay,

a fleeting impression

of bird-like feet,

indelibly fixed 
for countless millennia.

Or some spectacular bloom

from the lost age of giants

that looks almost alien to us,

buried by hot acidic ash

as soon as it fell.

It depends on the passing mood

expectation

the carefully curated self.

On memory

salience

gradations of light.

How I wish I was better

at blank slates

and the fine art of forgetting.

Less reflexive

more accepting

a generous judge.

Like a paleontologist

conserving the past

I remember when we met.

When we both were young

and easily impressed,

not yet invested

in a future life.

I still see you that way,

beautiful, giddy, guileless

in that long peasant dress

and wild nimbus of hair.

The smile

that lit up your eyes,

the sun

in its full summer flowering.

A good first impression

that has lasted, so far

for all of time.