Roses For Kate

At the top of Mt. Pisgah

I came upon roses

waiting for “Kate.”

They lay there on the rock

lit up by the sun

like a tiny red fire.

My heart surged—

they were not for me

but they might as well

have been.

Because the presence

of a simple,

handwritten note

is not lost

on the living;

no matter how hardened

our hearts.

The wind combed its fingers

through my hair

and made my skin prickle.

Black clouds in the distance

spoke of rain

and I felt as though

I had intruded

on an intimate

exchange.

Thin blades of grass

danced

and waved their tiny arms

as a rainbow

formed below me

in the valley—

That vivid arch

reflecting prisms of color

through the meeting

of water and light.

Longing is absolutely

necessary.

Yet we must stand

in the presence of another

to fully know

ourselves.

As I descended,

those cardinal colored

petals lay untouched,

in a simple gesture

of remembering—

I wonder,

had Kate ever come?