My breath is still coated by
the scent of the coffee I
carried in a paper cup
she had me bring along

The calm of the woods beckoned
to me, and I reckon
perhaps, at times, this solitude,
earth-evaporating as it was,
was enough
perhaps, at times, these hands,
chilly in its gloves as it was,
were better off rough
against the patterns of
the sequoia’s bark,
coarse as the soles
on my feet

Perhaps, at times, this sky,
dark and glittery as it was,
spread before me
oh-so-vastly,
would wrap me—
and me alone—
in its warm nostalgia,
and that, perhaps,
would be
enough.