Over the Summer
Calluses grew on my feet.
They are soft again.

I wonder about those nights.
If she hadn't been there with you, might it have been me?
Had I said something earlier, stopped joking around for just a moment?
I think things would have been different.
If I'd only been quicker, the Summer would have been ours to keep.
Long nights talking, days spent laughing. Smoke from the fire, from the **** of a cigarette and the exhale of a pipe, curling up into the air like all our shared memories.
Perhaps it's not meant to be.
But maybe it is.

I suppose we'll have to wait and see.

The mouse enters the owl's nest with sword in paw and shield at the ready.
Was returning to this place a good idea?
He wonders.
Was it easier and safer back home?
He ponders.

It doesn't matter.
It is too late for second guessing.

I used to catch frogs
on a creaky, wooden dock
with the sun on my shoulders.