back when his hair was black
and the muscle rippled along his back
Now it is the fabric that I notice
the good weave and solid color
and the drape across his shoulders.
They are still broad
but the sunlight doesn't cling to them
as I imagine it once did
burnishing him bronze
His smile has a barb in it
that he tucks beneath his teeth
I can almost see it though
in long afternoons under the heavy heat
He must have been cutting
with those deep eyes and black curls
and all the snide surety of strength
How ruthless he must have been
Father Boaz in his youth.
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