It is when the radishes don't bulb; I see my mistakes written in the canopy and pull each plant out, just as I would unravel a sweater stitch by stitch.
It is when I am on the outside, looking in; I know I have roots running these many miles that separate us even when I'm right in front of you.
It is when we get caught in a thunderstorm; I turn my face up to the rain and we laugh and we run until we realize we can't get any wetter, and it doesn't matter now that I would never let anyone see me dancing. Or hear me sing.
It is when I don't need any proof to know that you are gone; I will find you under my fingernails someday.
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