I know you as the most beautiful storm of your kind
fierce, swift, rushing across the inland sea
to buffet against me, caught halfway up the worn mountain.
Signs I missed: hollows of cold air, stars aligning, dim crossroads,
sudden wakings, a distant voice singing in the birch trees.
Were there other signs,
or did the gods intend to have you find me unaware?
Stopped on my moonless path
by the stowaway memory of your dark head
tipped back in laughter?
– Kay Winter