It finds you when it wants you, not before:
This time it found me among three dozen strangers
gathered to watch the earth eclipse the moon.

"There you are: let's go see the house we built
years ago, when first we settled on this land."

I followed her, watching the rhythms of her hips,
envying her husband, as she strode easy among
the white barked alders, setting aside
tall bracken with her hands. We came to a road
strange for having known only horses.
After, to a grove of firs, second growth,
arrow straight, full of grey lights. She showed
the house, its drunken roof. I drank in
every word, not to hear her sorrows, but to love
her voice. She bent among weeds, small hands
uprooting something small. "Here: you need
to take this home with you; water it good, okay?"

I stood desiring her, and not her apple mint;
holding the first of my gardens in my hand.