It’s not like a plum.
Not so simple, or ripe,
Or sweet.
The first time
He won your heart
Was long ago:
He spoke a word,
Plain enough.
You wore a key around your neck.
What a long acquaintance
Could follow
From a word and a key.
The mystery still surprises you.
Sometimes the moon
Knows your thoughts
And shivers with light.
The illumination
Touches your chin
As you sit in the garden and think.