You zigged when I zagged
and found me anyway.
Not hopscotch random like
tales told at picnics when
clouds gather heavy and gray.
But like a bolt, direct
out of science book tests
and weather forecast warnings.
How did you spot me
when I wasn’t tallest
or out standing in a field?
Only deep in my footprints,
walking rock, plowed earth, and road
under every quirk of the sun.
You were heat-seeking
in the best way,
sending your current my way
and watching me ride it back to you
as I pondered all your shoots of energy,
and in the end,
twined them with my own.
You sparked our best
and let us fly.
And here we are, still.
Keeping
like that proverbial stuff
in the bottle.
Copyright 2019 Ré Harris. All rights reserved.
