Someone can make just the smallest mention of her in conversation and my ears will perk. Despite that, I will always refer to her casually and with a forced hint of indifference...because I simply cannot admit out loud how much I adore her. Of course, she is constantly on my mind and I am constantly trying to dislodge those thoughts. They are plainly impossible thoughts. As impossible as an anarchist victory in America. As impossible as me writing excellent verse.

She is some wonderful Stevia or Golden Fennel plant that will not tolerate my Winter.
I lose sight of her in the distances, where the land evaporates at the horizon. I lose her in the cornfields, in the hay-lots, and along the bottom of creeks in milk-colored Spring-time waters.

She is a cosmonaut, an acrobat, an explorer. I am a miner, a mason, a farmer.
She is the distant Green star. It is amazing enough that I am even aware of her existence.