It was just the turn of your head,
Like the fields where we ran as kids
Tall, through the rolling grass
Skipping, hollering, laughing
That was when Springtime never ended.
Now we start it off again, here,
like then. Your eyes, your hands
Immersed in the window’s view,
Across the fields, to where the hills rise up
Collecting it all into the little streams
Reflecting in the midday sun.
Humming, softly in the warmth of that day
When we opened doors for the first time.
And in came light and breeze and linens swaying,
Entwined in a caress that never stopped.
And just as you turn again,
The faint scent of you, lingering.
I never remembered, until now,
like the stream where the oak trees grow,
The tiny home over the hill,
We don’t have to know anything more.
Nobody told me it would be quite like this.
How was I to know all the questions,
You look away, I wonder,
All of that was answered,
A long time ago. Nothing more.
I didn’t have to.
As children, we could study the
Long swoop of a single flower petal,
Seeing the landscapes rise and fall.
And in the one moment,
Your sure glance weaving a simple thread
Of lush green garden into my heart.
It has been a long time, my love.
All those things happened, then.
Now we turn, move into the place
Where the light fades from an afternoon
Sitting in the still air of an early evening.
That was your hello.