drying strawberries for winer

we slice them paper thin;
heart-shaped slivers of sweetness
set on a screen
to lie and dry
in the sunlight.
when the edges curl we pry them off
bury them in crackling paper
and put them away.
months from now
when the world has spun
from the sun
and the ground
is frozen
we take them out
pass around the paper bag and
eat our hearts
in the darkness.
and although each slice is
a surprising burst
of sweetness,
each one is just
the memory
of a strawberry:
they are sweet but
insubstantial
as fleeting as
the taste of summer.