He didn't know it
(she, not quite a shadow,
because a shadow must follow)
He didn't know how
she walked along
beside him,
behind him,
all the while watching
from the corners of her dazzling blue eyes.
Eyes that take it all in,
and keep it somewhere deep
where it will grow like a vine
and leaf out,
maybe years from now,
through little windows
of personality
of moral fiber
of style and attitude and humor.
A reflection in his steady pond,
a sapling under his sturdy branch,
an echo in his canyon.
If I listen
I think I can
already hear her.
(A visit to artist's studios during Art at the Source in Sonoma County)
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