Sunny

Sunny has the longest legs, peachy with a golden fuzz finer than dandelion fingers, hanging lazily in the summer afternoon, so still in the air you try to rub them like sleep from your eyes. The arabesque swirls; goldenrod in the morning, mercury white in the day, red at dusk, gone at night unless you touch her impossible legs, which we never do. Sunny wears shorts cut short and shoes cut low, she's wading in the warm sunshine. When the weather turns cold she puts her legs away, I know she doesn't just disappear but no one ever sees her until the wind makes the correct rustle in pregnant trees, and is sufficiently kissed.