You haven’t written in awhile.
I check for your postcards in the morning, and I listen for you laugh at lunch.
I ask the sun, ‘Have you seen life?” but the sun only sinks into the hills and the moon is too busy bewitching the tide. The leaves on the tree say something of your coming, but they fall to the dirt and dissolve to dust before they can answer me.
The wind tries to tell me, but too many secrets and no time for rest means that I will never know the meaning of the wind’s words.
The little bird in the tree said something to me, but the sound was so sweet that I dare not ask him to repeat.
And so, dear life, I will ask the morning star, and I will ask the mountains far.
I will trace my finger along the knots in a tree and bury my toes in the kiss of the sea.
I will follow the wind’s whispered path, and sing to the sounds of sparrows.
I will be asking,
“Have you seen life?”
But I won’t be looking for you.
Oh, no! I will be asking,
“Have you seen life? Isn’t life beautiful?”