He was hard to read, though steadily so,
Like an old Cyrillic text
Or that erratic wind come to tickle your sails.

The road was a hard one, but
I couldn’t give up.
The payoff would be large, I told myself.
I never had the slightest doubt.

I kept at it, kept discovering his sweet wonders.

I kept them in my heart, too,
Like the blood itself that courses through it,
Always moving
Never stationary—
And impossible to catch.