Sitting beside an early-springtime lake,
the wind in my face is still a bit chilly
and the shore plants- reeds and grasses-
are now barely beginning green.
I try to imagine what it would be like
to watch this lakeside world
I was the only one doing so.
To watch with
no anticipation nor anxiety but my own,
no memory nor regret
and no truths.
(I also imagine)
hear only the unending echo of
and in some green-leafy,
a very real Love.