For admiring the painting and not knowing the artist wanted to meet you.
For pulsing with joy and never realizing
there was a source.
For tasting the sweetness and the savor
and not thinking to ask who made it so good.
For longing for love and not dreaming
that love was longing for you.
For remembering that an invitation came
and not being able to recall what exactly you did with it.
For walking by an open door and never wondering when would be closing time.
Near Hartwell House,
September 30, 2003