If it’s merely that you know my name,
If it’s merely that you’ve passed this way,
If it isn’t all I hoped it’d be,
I would try to make that okay with me.
it could not happen on demand.
Mine are not feelings, which like bulbs,
have bloomed overnight, easily destroyed,
for they have just come to light.
No, these were planted by you long ago,
and have since taken deep roots in my soul,
are here year-round, not just perineal.
I would have to dig up the roots from down
deep in the soil.
they had a slow start, like a homemade soup,
when you first put it on,
with water in the pot, adding cut-up
pieces and chucks from the garden,
seasonings added gradually,
along with the meat,
flavors extracting from time over heat,
combing together, the differences there,
until, as a whole,
something wonderful’s made.
This is the manner in which you are there,
this was the method
and time spent with care,
nothing lasting, worth having
will sprout suddenly,
more often twas time spent
which set it to brewing.