You're fifteen in a bathing suit:
Long milk legs, dark swish of hair,
Half-turned on the porch, gazing
Down some road behind the camera.
You're thirty-four in a pale blue dress:
Sharp chin and soft smile pointed at Mom,
Who is eighteen and nervous
In her homemade wedding gown.
You're seventy in a t-shirt, cutoffs:
Salt-and-pepper hair, rib-deep in water,
Admiring the dragonfly
Perched on your upturned wrist.