I did not think of you this year when robins’
sudden voices stirred the garden. No,
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
I was so free.
I almost heard you laugh the day
I scared the hungry bear 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 perfume in the breeze,
when to the garden next I go,
I will not think of you.
