Every time I see you, I’m captivated by you,
Imagine an Orchid growing through thorns,
Amidst the briers and pains of this life,
A flower as lovely as you was born,

Know, your smile’s my reason to smile,
I’d endure many seasons, walk many miles
To be near you, if only for a short while,
My heart could bear the trial,

But what it can not do, or live through:
Searching for what it can not find,
My puzzled heart’s in a bind, it seems,
It can’t judge reality from the dream—

The dream: plant you in my heart’s garden,
Reality: you’ll flourish right where you are,
For you are a lovely Orchid,
To be admired solely from afar.

When was it in the heart of man to love?
Who planted that first orchid in the fire,
Then nurtured it with lifeblood from above,
Only to watch it wither into brier?

When was it that my eyes beheld your form?
A seed was planted in this fruitful soul.
It blossomed into White Delphinium,
A shared desire, a longing to feel whole.

It was my goal to keep you close to me,
As we lapped water from a passion spring.
Rejoice I did—this caged bird you set free!
But then you left before my voice could sing:

When was it in our hearts to suffer grief?
The truest form of love is, truly, brief.

I’ve been sitting in the bathtub
For fifty-six minutes,
Shower running,
Counting the water drops
On the wall.
I see you in each droplet.
I see your face,
Your smile deliquescing
Into molecules
I can no longer find.
Water drops are
Memories long forgotten.
I’ve counted 3,871.
I still reminisce.
I still love you.
To contain my lament
Is to count droplets.
To you,
I’ve dissolved into
The past.
To me,
Well...
3,872...

I see you,
In the bright, blooming hibiscus,
In the gentle flow of a creek,
In the morning sun.

I hear you,
In the wistful caress of a violin string,
In the rattle of the oak leaves falling,
In the coo of the rock dove.

I smell you,
In the gardenias that beckon me.
I taste you,
in the bead of the honey.

I feel you,
In the soft droplets of spring rain,
In the hollowness of my bed.
In the beat of my lonely heart.

I miss you,
The way the white-winged dove
Misses the sky when it’s caged.
I feel caged by my longing,

My yearning for you.
I will never have you wholly.
Through my senses, through
Nature, I behold you partly.

The Sandhill Crane glides low,
Reflecting in the rippling mirror,
The tips of its unbroken wings
Caressing the edge of the water.
That’s how I wish my lips
Knew yours.

I wish I could alter the flora,
The gilded meadow,
To spell out your name with
Purple and Mexican Butterfly ****,
Maybe then you’d fly back to me,
And never leave.

Where did you soar off to?
Where did you go?
Possibly to Hoosier Hill,
Or to Hemlock Cliffs,
Where you rightly belong,
Because of your elevated beauty.

How selfish of me.
Who was I to think that
I could steal you away, that I
Could own something so brilliant,
Like trying to take the sun
And getting burned?

I glide low on the water’s edge,
My pain reflects in the ripples.
I wish I could hold you,
The way the tree limbs hold
The Inca dove’s nest.
I wish my heart
Knew yours.

You had the bud of a
Night-blooming cereus
Within you. Desirable.
I unearthed you and planted
You inside of me,
But you did not take
Root.

You did not blossom as I
Had hoped, so I gave you over
To the forest, the illusory
Garden of love.
There you thrive in beauty,
While I admire you
From a distance.