Life was fuller then.
I remember the path we cleared,
it led all the way down to the creek,
through the laurels and ivy.
Those were precious times
we had under the cloak
of the chestnuts
and the swirling maples.

You could hear the running water
trickle over the granite steps
and catch glimpses
of the inquisitive fox
that thought it
was camouflaged
by the fallen timbers.

I cherished the nights,
full of cicada-sounds
and blanketed by the stars,
we sipped genuine sarsaparilla.

But somewhere along the way,
our dreams went south.
They became shattered
like the broken rocks
wearing splashes of lichen
& ancient mossy jackets.

I am still at a loss
when I hear the wood spirits
imitate your laugh.
That's the hardest part
of missing you,
the way you giggled.

The look of your icy blues
raging
with fire
has never been duplicated.
Your kiss was the rarest.