today the raindrops are sharp,
fine needles injecting novocaine
into the back of my exposed skin,
my breath heavy
from running up the incline
as fast
as
i
can
to see if a wish came true.

and i reach the clearing.
gingerly i step onto a new bed
of yellow-green moss —
soft, springy, cushioning me
from what lies beneath —
and i stoop down,
let my fingertips feel
the gentleness within each tiny leaf
that absorbs the tears dripping down.

and so we finally meet again.
despite the ages that have passed
i still remember your voice
and its mirthful tones
telling me you wished to be reborn
as none other than moss
on the forest floor.