Anywhere

Perhaps it was the somber vines between
those leaves, or how a moon spilled lavender
through parted sheers, and blended shades of green
against my wall, that made me think of her.

Or maybe, it was trusting mourning doves
who left their eggs behind when dawn imbued
a citrine sky. I know about her loves.
They echo in the beauty she pursued

like scents of hyacinth in June, or song
that fills a hillside church, and solemn prayer.
Each day I think: it seems so very long
since I have sensed her presence, anywhere.