We meet in the middle.
The lavender field bursts with quiet.
The book in my hands a relic
of my imagination and my once-found peace
The dirt on your cheeks confesses
long hours of work.
Your shirt isn’t tucked in your pants.
As the sky loses its boundaries with the lavender blossoms
and the blush on your ears pulls me closer,
I think back on that scene I read earlier in the train.
About the woman that was searching for
her soul at the roots of the riverside trees.
I wonder if she found it,
like I found you.