The Shared Season

Perhaps the flower that looked red to your eyes I saw as yellow. Perhaps the road that seemed straight to your eyes my eyes saw full of twists and turns. Perhaps the sound that you heard as the rustle of an angel’s wing one and the same in my ear was the screech of a file on a metal screw; perhaps always such distances between my gaze and yours will remain but neither of us has ever danced for joy at the sight of a frozen sparrow at the foot of a tree. Perhaps always, behind the distances, there has been a season in which we have loved each other.