Dawning

I try to give you credit, but you won't take it. Still it swells my heart and it's here.

Light brings relief. Dust like matted fur keeps the past warm as long as we don't touch it.

I feel we've grown together, this wood and I. Cut down you shelter me, while I dream and so I owe you them. You should grow again, in me, besides me.

What day is this?

How do I make my way through, undisturbing?

I know your look: sorrowful, accusing, regret of that you cannot change, though you tried so hard to.

We want so much to smother it in a hug, but we know we'll only press it deeper.

If only we weren't so fearful of breaking the crystalline silence that we would would deafen rather than innervate.

And so movement follows the beckoning sun in its ceaseless rise and I pass by right where I started. Head up and straight, never to cast mine eyes down lest destruction disrupt my purpose.

There is no goodbye. That will be hidden behind teary waterfalls at times when the cavalry can charge no more.

I take my final step. Too soon, so brief? Emboldened inertia.

It is not, but it feels like





A leaving.