he steps through the door frame
looks back for a moment
a shadow of the way I looked behind us
up the creek’s darkening canyon walls
when I asked him if he was afraid
and over and over
each time he said no
and waited for me
lovely

he turns again, inside out
and now the door is locked
now his eyes rise
look up and wide
far down the road past the car waiting
with everything except the ones
he’s leaving behind and the trees and the water and the light
in the home that has loved him very much
that he has loved, too

little breeze through the leaves
oak whispered quiet thoughts to me
in that winter
he was brave and bare open
child-like, the way Jesus said
and laid forgiveness down around him
lost all his leaves to the ground
to be soft
when I came back to him broken

in that dark, he was the only thing
he let me press his bruises and hurt his bones
when I wrapped his hands too tight
to keep from falling into space forever

sunday morning I sit and burn into the quiet
he’s left now and the suns gone too
farther and farther
consumed by a tunnel of hungered trees
now, only time will know
what is to become of us?

oak stretches forward stronger limbs
from the center of being
this new-born courage
is still like a hillside wildflower
so I walk careful with heavy footed words
study thoughts as a lesson,
and do not touch the soft

love through silence deepening
this time, he must stay free