All my life I looked for you
though I didn’t know
what I was looking for
and entered
other’s dreams of you—
though you appeared, insistent as rain
through the broken lines of each day—
in the birds muted flight
in the church bells song.
Only now do I see you are
the weave of this world, already here,
found in the stopped engines of thought.
All this time, I believed I waited for you;
when it is you who have been waiting
for me.