I did not think of you this year when robins’
sudden voices stirred the garden.
I could not think of you; I begged your pardon.
I did not see your hair or smell your skin
when the purling bloom of hyacinth perfume
astonished me. I practically rejoiced to see
how free I am.
I almost heard you laugh the day
I scared a pack of bears away
and saved the empty feeder for the birds.
But I endured.
And so I guess despite the sun
despite the blooming apple trees, despite the smells
despite the breeze, if I venture once again into the yard,
like Adam rising from the dew,
and take it in, I will not think of you.