There is a boy and a girl I know
Their faces impressed upon my mind
I surely know one from the other
But every time I try to describe them
Their features meld.
Her nose becomes his eyes
His lips turn into her fingers.
I never can tell one from the other
How old are they?
I do not know.
Like the nose and the lips
And the fingers and their tips
Their timeline baffles me.
Are they in their teens?
Or are they nearing the winter
Of their lives?
I cannot tell.
Neither can I see.
What I can see
Is that some days
Their smile dazzles the sun to shame
The glow on their faces
Loaned from a full moon night.
The laughter in their voices
Can silence a thousand crickets
Under dark starlit skies
—
One day I saw dried soil on her blouse
A patch of red earth, almost invisible
But as sure as gravity clung
To the soft fabric for dear life
She’s a city girl
I thought.
Where would a patch of soil find her?
The next day
I saw the same unmistakable red
Clinging to the hem of his trousers
Coincidence. I dismissed it.
Another day I saw her walking,
A blade of grass stuck to her hair
Her shirt just a little crinkled
And a little while after
I saw him.
His shirt had bits of green and brown
Smudged across the back
Had he been lying in one of
Van Gogh’s sunflower fields?
Spent and happy?
The greens were the same hue.
Another coincidence?
I couldn’t dismiss it this time.
They never seem to speak
When anyone’s looking.
At times I think
They do not even know each other.
But I see patches
Of a wide vastness
In their hair, their shirts,
And in the tilt of their smiles.
The fabrics they wear
Bear the telltale signs
Of the field they have found
Beyond
The barriers of our cityscape.
And I know
They always meet there.
