when i take walks i think about what i’ll make for dinner and what i forgot to do this afternoon and why she made that off-handed comment and why do people insist that green grass is better than grass with wild clover and when did the clematis get so big and where did the egret go and why is the pup limping slightly and what time will i leave on thursday morning and what in the world will i make for dinner today…
everything is temporary
even the roses were tired
we are moving away from the river and my thoughts slip sideways into the things i’ll miss–the marsh, the herons, the geese, the egret
it is possible to be both lost and found at the same time
collecting memories–
those tiny moments, each so distinct and uniquely faceted, made all the more lovely with the passing of time
we must try, so very earnestly,
to make friends with change
the petals were collected,
until a storm gust scattered them
like soft, pink diamond dust
dancing with the wind
rainbows after storms
ice cream cones on hot afternoons
irises in the rain
peach whiskey on ice
kisses from the pup
green beans with sweet onions
old fences and buttercups
last night i dreamt that i walked into your house
lightly touching the objects on the table,
and realizing that you were sleeping softly in an upstairs open loft,
i took in the sound of your steady breath,
letting myself out of your house
and out of my dream–
wistfully satisfied
spanishwoods 