By Mary Kamerer

Come to me like a bell on a breeze,
quietly. In an unexpected moment,

like the flash of a cardinal’s red wing
in a snowy forest.

Or like a memory, unbidden,
private, yet to which you are wholly present.

Come to me as you will
in the middle of the night,

creeping along the floorboards
and walls, silent and stealthy.

Like lilacs in full bloom,
resplendent with each bud

opening to the air,
infuse the shorelines of longing.

There’s nothing to discuss,
endlessly expectant.

That calm, that easy,
without preconception.

Come to me as you will,
your cap in your hand,

your bike against my cabin,
your breath in my ear.

By Pia Taavila-Borsheim