she was born into the world of his life
the first day he met her.
he tried once to remember her before that day,
that moment,
perhaps to lengthen the knowledge of her,
own the breadth of her existence
just a tiny bit longer.
they must surely have come across the other,
there must have been a previous moment, he thought.
but the first moment remained.
then after,
the second moment when his love for her
burst like a many-petalled flower
after a long and yearning winter.
...or was it a slow descent into caring,
followed by a tender love,
such as a weary traveler making his arduous way
down a frigid mountain path
into a field of warm poppies?