I've been waiting for you to find me.I left a trail of notes, traces, less- than-gentle hints - but you passed me by, walking quickly, oblivious. In the grove by the old wishing well, sealed-up and silent, along the tangled rhododendrons, the line of smooth-barked beech - I was near, humming, a pace or two behind. You never noticed. When you crossed the stone bridge and stopped to watch two Canada geese arrowing toward the Merrimack, I stared up at you from the pond's cool green, purling, well within your reach. And you gazed back - but gave no sign of recognition.
A breath. Again. The wind erased the pain of the question. Your eyes were lost in the sky's apostrophe.
It was then you found me but couldn't realize just what you'd found. No matter. It may take a winter to shake the seeds from the eye's blossom to the heart's dark ground.