Where is she? She was here just a moment ago. Or was it an eon ago? On the patio, outside my glass doors, a dry leaf scuttles crab-like from Point A to Point B, where it’ll be no better off. And dawn, tangled up in the trees this a.m.: pale green light floating on dark green leaves . . .
the Mayan deadline past—
Well, it’s a wonderful human quality that we should miss others, not simply because we loved them, but because of what they loved: light-in-leaves, advent of the holidays, jonquils, the Canticle of the Sun of St. Francis . . .
And we are here as on a darkling plain . . .
Guess what? I almost wrote "darling" . . .
Where is she?
what follows me in dreams