THE ONE WE SOUGHT

It takes
a day or a week
for it to pour out,
what we spent
so much time holding away,
by the rushing around,
the endless errands
when quiet was calling—
a curled leaf,
the twisted wire of the
headphones, the
small colored stones
that sit so still
staring back at you,
casting their
shadow,
brilliant in the white
artificial light
that cannot hide,
no matter how brightly,
the tiny folds of wrinkled
skin, wrapped around
the one we sought,
the one who
was here,
all along.