The quiet way
© Suzanne Bosworth

I would like to discover you
in quiet ways.
Not in a loud tearing of wrapping paper
in a mad dash and a scattering of packing beads,
but a slow unfolding.
A curled rose of Jericho
opening in rain.

I would like to take time learning the little things:
finding that you cross your sevens,
that you once walked at Maldon on your own on Christmas Day,
that the colour red delights you.

I would like to lean with you on a rickety gate,
watching horses toss their tails, skittish with the green growth of early spring,
and talk about the things that move and shape us.
Or slow dance with you in a pale grey dawn
to an old familiar song in a minor key
and smile in the singing of it.

Then I will understand, when my heart slips its lines,
why it tugs and tugs to go to you.