By June

my hair had turned
light as California
worked its changes.

There was nothing of Kansas
left on me
save the fragrance of
freshly mown hay
in the memory
of my nostrils.

Now the smell
of salty water
colors every breath
green-blue.
The touch of it cleanses
freshens and restores.

Old layers waft away
each exfoliated from each
leaving only that part
which is alive behind.