I thought I might find you here
coaxing your precious plants to feed our family
with the help of shape shifters that transport mist
from mountain peaks that seduce the foolish
from insistent waves that soothe the senses
from meandering streams that inspire the poet
from salty tears that contain life’s yearning.
But the cerulean garden was just a camouflage
for the ancient future of hope
that I might find you here.
Perhaps next time.