I see you striding up some western hill;
Shrugged in a warming garment for the climb,
Your hair all windy in the freshening chill
Your light step eager, in the breeze of time.
I watch you in your gentle, forward gait,
Tilting your head to scan the open sky;
A wordless song in you that will not wait
Tracing the echoes of your passing by.
I find you there – and in a windowed tree
Known long ago; the cycle of its bloom,
The certain way in which its buds burst free
(And wonder blossomed in a childhood room).
I see you then – just past that springtime sill,
Stretching your smaller self to topmost bough –
-- Today I see that proud ascending, still,
The brightest April, living in you now.
April 17, 1978