or well-timed tricks shall draw your distant eyes
to me, and honestly, I have not strength
to speak falsely of my mischievous heart
which murmurs softly of you, wondering
where are the gentle evening walks, and nights
spent in worship of the ground and air. Oh where
did the open paths lead us, on so brief a walk
to new questions, new reflections of ourselves.
What God intends, we are not meant to know
but our eyes met once, and I saw the wild
heart within you, your seeking eyes of gold
turned inward, where the lion sleeps, deep
in the forests of your growing, changing self.
You may find it there, where the wild walks,
and perhaps some day, our paths shall cross
as other selves, and our eyes brief speak
of evenings shared, and a lifetime lost.