Thursday, September 08, 2016
Sometimes
I never know
just when you are going
to come.
Sometimes it is as though
you are there, always,
hidden behind the couch,
waiting to spring.
Or else curled behind my ear,
ready to burst
into a gloria.
Sometimes you are merely
a scattering of rocks
tinted by the
sun,
or a tree
gently swaying,
whisper of leaves.
Somehow
I think you never really leave,
just hide inside your
invisibility cape
and then I look around
and see nothing
but you everywhere.
Dorothy Walters
September 4, 2016
