Someone left a scarf on the floor of a forest
at the end of May. Someone left a blanket
under a tree, hoping. Some bird will pass,
probably, through the rib of pine. I imagine
a heart kept warm, regardless. Of not having,
someone wandered. Of not wanting, someone
gathered all her strength and screamed.
For what it’s worth I heard you, followed
strings and knots through until
I found you. Soiled but weightless,
now the song can begin. Now is does,
did. You tell them I am here.