i sneak down route 133
to the place where the black eyed suzies sing
about you and the summer days
when we were too busy with children
to love as loudly as we should

i listen to the empty people in full cars
careen past between Lowell and Tewksbury
wishing they could be me on the side of the road
crying with joy for the golden petals
and the bumble bee grumbling
between their brown center

when I start to pluck the first
i know, I can’t.
love is best when quiet
i think
and then I feel better
about a thousand sunsets
I almost missed.