You are there already
and yet I don’t know you.
I don’t recognize you,
the man behind the banana tree
of a long ago drawing,
a shadow at the edge of my wall.
Am I to wonder and muse on then
about an awareness
an elusive presence
blinked away in a deficit of attention?
Did I tell you about grey flannel skies,
wrinkles in plane trees, and stars in wet rocks?
Did I share with you the indescribable delight
of sweet solanum blossoms in sunrise?
Did I let escape, out of my silliness,
that a tree protects me and listens to my blues?
That rain falls in popping circles,
percussion in bubbles,
each one releasing an intention
to nudge a seed who waits?
Were you here
when I wondered
about the colors of silence,
of indifference, of absence
and of words I no longer hear?
Am I holding a piece of you
and you a piece of me
as we go about our day sipping time,
rushing around, coming and going,
hearing the same
without a care,
in sweet communion
of grown up foolishness?