Eros In Spring

She sits very still in a grassy plot that will soon be night, crossed with shadows, pierced by shafts of piercing moonight. She sits very still, revolving her thoughts. I am standing a short distance from her in a grove of trees with pale green leaves. There is no breeze. Every leaf is still, even my breathing is slow and soundless. Her twilight complxion is more beautiful than twilight itself. "Turn toward me, " I plead. "See me. Greet me." To no avail. I walk tentatively behind her, and enter the edge of her grassy plot. Suddenly I feel like an interloper, and leave quickly. As I turn away, as I walk away, her presence weighs on me. I feel motionless air on my arms and face. I see traces of moonlight on my clothes, even the silence touches me. But that girl of spring touches me most deeply. Why do moon and trees, air and heat, darkness fading light all acknowledge me, ansd yet she is silent, self-absorbed, distant even in nearness? We are sharing this silence. We are of one mind. It should be a shared spring.