I see her at the curb
just another person in
the crowd.  The market
vendors of fruit.  Season of
mangoes and chaos.

She smiles, laughing
in her eyes and asks
where am I taking her.
I am a child again

climbing the neighbor's wall,
Rapunzel next door.
Inviting her to come
down the window.

A foothold at a time.
The mangoes are ripe, if
we are careful, we can
steal time.  Pick

the fruit that is not ours.
Her smile is
and is not a lie.  She looks
the vendor in the eye,

and we walk
a pace apart each other,
purposely
not holding hands.