I always find myself places where I would if I could. I sit near her, thinking she’ll say something. I have words in my heart. I whistle loudly, walking by her place, hoping she’ll look out her window, and I’d be radiant! I look up at an owl perched atop a palm tree, making his “on” noises. I stop the wait for something to happen, stop the stiff bent neck, stop the nothing coming, not here. I kick the owl tree, hoping to see the owl fly away. I always walk away.

July 1971