In the thirty year gap you have fallen on your knees; a school boy once again. Reverent, penitent, silent in your first glimpse of soft white thighs, of the darkness between that beckons and threatens of the unknown.
On a mountain side I've lost my clothes, and all the green-black arms of the trees point and wave, in awe of my boldness. A circle of shouts, black birds in the overhead, their bright eyes well aware of my desire.
Below me, this old man, twice handsome as he is kind, and kinder than most could ever hope to be, his hands and tears against my bare, white feet. All his praises to the Virgin, forsaken, forgotten, remembered anew.