Like Wildflowers

or returning home

or finding socks in the bed:

you come to me in all the wrong moments.

Tonight I find you in a parking lot

walking home from the train station

a forest;

weeds peeking past pavement

[This burough so full of

accidental gardens]

and stop to investigate.

Through bent chicken wire,

black shapes twining and

looping in the dark; swaying

billows of grass.

I squint my eyes

to make out a

sooty feline crouched

as if blooming

between the Dandelions

and Queen Ann's Lace;

eyes like red beams and

slip under I

dig my knees into the dirt,

finding a sudden urge to hold

I wade through towards a clearing and

you

I find you there instead

limbs splayed.

Together

we stuff lightning bugs into our mouths

by the handful;

we eat them like peanuts.