I see you in the majesty of the star-dotted stratosphere.

And when the clouds darken the ominous skies,

I see you.

Among the trees or the whispering wind or the last

fluttering of the butterflies,

I see you.

When a young child flies by me on a bicycle

or chases after an errant ball,

I see you.

I once saw you on a train, causing my broken heart to

spasm and spill out all over me.

I saw you just yesterday in the Judean desert

and at the bar, downing a cocktail.

And when that bucking ibex locked eyes with

me, yes, oh yes, it was you that I saw.

Every so often, I see you in the ocean.

Sometimes, the ocean is me—calm and tranquil until

I see you—

and then I am a rip current, plunging under, way, way out of reach.

I packed up the photos, stored the first place trophies,

and stashed away all that would remind me.

But still,

I see you.