Were love to meet me in the hallway would I recognize its smile, or catch the tell-tale shape of its eyes? 
Would I say: “I know you!” or pass silently?


Did we meet? I remember you . . . or someone like you, I can’t be sure. 
Were you my daughter being born?
Were you my father as I scrambled up into his lap in our favorite red chair? 
Were you my new wife’s hand in mine and we felt the hot sun on a Florida beach? 
Were you my mother hiding her cancer and broken hip from me? 
Was it you who told her to suffer alone?
Love, was it you who took me through the dark days of my daughter’s anorexia?


If we pass again, will we stop in amazement at the recognition? 
Will you ask me to take a walk with you outside, in the open air? 
Would we talk of mysteries revealed only by our conversation?