I do not know if it’s all illusion—
but I adore when someone lies awake, eyes wide with dreams,
tracing blades of grass, searching for me
among flocks of white herons.
I adore how someone falls in love with me
while watching a deer—hair spilled wild, resting
in pale blue light, waiting, almost breathless,
for the hour of longing to end.
And I adore it more
when they listen for dew to learn if I have arrived;
cradling a young hare, wondering if I, too, am restless;
holding a white flower, smiling softly,
gazing at swans and thinking of me.
When rain falls they run outside
just to feel me near.
I love it—
after the long day fades, or in the burnt stillness of afternoon,
when they return, weary as a dove, and look for me—
yes, I love it.
May they remain like rainfall—
gentle, everlasting, felt upon skin and soul.