Perhaps

it was that the leaves

had not yet turned russet

as they had the first time.

Perhaps it was that the sky

was blue and cloudless,

being slate gray the first time.

Perhaps because

the carolilian chime did not ring

that second time,

nor did the choir sing.

It was only me that second time,

sitting on the oaken bench

placed between the chapel and the lake,

waiting for,

praying for

a xeroxed epifany

like the first time,

that did not come

the second.

Perhaps

it was because I was not as open

to the Spirits insemination

of my well tilled and seeded soil.

Perhaps,

this time I was not as deserving.

Or,

perhaps,

I was.

But who am I,

(given the Spirit

who blows as It wills,

when and where ever

It is inclined)

to anticipate a return engagement,

“back by popular demand”?

To expect a second visitation

as there was the first time.

No!

A lesson learned:

No more assuming

a wild wind will rise at my command.

Only now to clutch a faith in It.

That, sometime,

It might,

In Its own way,

be with me.

Or not.