When I can’t find You,
I turn to the birds –
but their songs tweet
aggressively sweet
in my teary ears.
I implore the trees –
but their stillness irritates;
I run wild and
do not find.
I beg the sun –
but she just smiles with fun.
How can she – consumed
by her own stunning
brightness – comprehend
my malaise?
So I don’t ask anymore.
I don’t search or hope
or grope or demand –
I accept absence,
and it melts in consensus.
It’s then I remember
where and when to find You
Photo by Ellie Burgin from Pexels
