A moment comes when you open
a drawer and there is a photograph.
Stunned is not, perhaps, the word,
but it stops your hand and draws
your gaze

Then you are surprised to find
that tears have come, unbidden.

Your fingers touch that face
and your palm remembers.
Your heart remembers
a voice that spoke words-

Rubbish.
I know.
I love you.

The bark of a tree
on the bare of my palm
feels precisely opposite
the smooth of your skin.

At the far end
of the pasture
ran the horses

naked and lithe
as though they might
lift into flight.

"Damn!" she said
"Look at em go!"

She was younger then
bright eyes wide
with the thought of it.

We walk on stones
sometimes
broad and flat that lie
so still

and when
we walk on sand or leaves
the memory of stone
remains.

 

Air moves cool across
the void created
when the trees fell.