Don't Look Now Don't look in the crowded cities of the coastal bore for love is apprehensive, avoids easy entanglements, prefers to remain in each of the seven villages of solitude, appears for only the briefest moment, occasionally, but not necessarily, obvious. Don't look in the high country beyond the central spine for love is never foolish, sometimes insanely bizarre, often flattens against the bracken of a purple moor, telegraphs nothing. Don't look in the unpainted desert of the western quarter for love carries no water, needs to cool his longings with hopeless wonder, sidesteps quicker than a moonbeam's shadow at high noon, decoding pure delight for amused observers. Don't look across the widest prairies of the fertile midsection for love abhors undistinguishment, oblivious to flagrant rosins floating in stifling conditions, heedless of hankering needs, incongruous. Don't look along the shores of the serpentine river snaking from north to south on a speculative whimsy, harnessing no excuses, flowing indefatigably toward the lost sea, for love has his private salt, cures desire into jerky strips, proffers himself to a lucky few, inevitable. Don't look in the redwood forests of the rockiest regions where snow-covered aspirations stand tall among unfulfilled longings, for love has already anticipated your blind gropings, now lies in ambush with a quiver of extreme countermeasures, laughs quietly. Don't look now but your trail-wrecked body, after years of false wanderings, is now in Love's arrowsight, crosshaired and helpless; ironically, love has been assiduously hunting you. Don't look back. (First published in Open Door - Labyrinth Issue - 2024)