The children play hide and seek
in the park where the sun
slips like egg yolk into
the sparkling bowl of the lake.
Their games never last long,
coordinates in the bulrushes and cattails,
copses of cedar and maple,
triangulated by laughter, their
eyes beacons of unabashed joy.
They cannot see us, perched
as we are, on the hill,
our games never-ending, for
our hiding places are too devious
for others to know.
But my breath brushing shyly
against your neck, and my fingers
whispering the lines of your hands,
betray the same secret desire
to be found.
— from Juniper Volume 6, Issue 3