Return

So they say, or I tell myself

Move on, and so I do. 

But it

Doesn't always work that 

Way. Musing, thinking 

About planting hops, 

Thinking about spring-pruning 

The old climbing roses,

Grocery lists and birthdays coming up

How the sky's starting to turn less

The winter sunset,

I stop to photograph 

A rushing stream in rain, 

Grey skies topping fields

Adjacent to a stand of pine and fir

Some other things, mindless of the rain

There's this thrum that's always

Humming, burning gold, 

I realize I don't know what

To call it, so I think for a minute

You are here, somehow. 

Coming down the road

Home's red rooftops float thru 

Rain, I turn into the drive, 

Sort of remembering where I went 

Taking pictures 

Mud was running in rivulets, 

I was driving through rain

And stopping, into it, and finding it...

I really needed you.