I would that you could see
The twinkle of the stars above
As the wind sweeps through the trees
In a night warmed by summer.

I would that you could hear
The crinkling, crackling bonfire
That burns in a wildflower-filled field
As the crickets sing their own song.

I would that you could taste
The sweet strawberry wine
I left to age for days, just for this night,
In a brown flip-top bottle.

I would that you could do
So many things like these,
For that would mean
You were still here with me.

That would mean I hadn't stood
Alone on that hill in the Northwest
In the bone-chilling ache of winter
Watching them lower you down.

That would mean I haven't lost
Days, weeks, months, and years,
To the sepia-toned fading memories
Stored away in a lockbox in my mind.

That would mean
*So many things to me.