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I've been waiting for you to find me.I left a trail of notes, traces, less- than-gentle hints - but you passed me by, walking quickly, oblivious. In the grove by the old wishing well, sealed-up and silent, along the tangled rhododendrons, the line of smooth-barked beech - I was near, humming, a pace or two behind. You never noticed. When you crossed the stone bridge and stopped to watch two Canada geese arrowing toward the Merrimack, I stared up at you from the pond's cool green, purling, well within your reach. And you gazed back - but gave no sign of recognition.

A breath. Again. The wind erased the pain of the question. Your eyes were lost in the sky's apostrophe.

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It was then you found me but couldn't realize just what you'd found. No matter. It may take a winter to shake the seeds from the eye's blossom to the heart's dark ground.

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