in a lone patch of trees,
where weeds brush ankles
and long grasses tickle knee caps,
the branches dip and hang with veils of moss.
The earth has sunken into a deep hole
where water runs and trickles over rocks.
Two rot-encrusted planks stretch across this space
as an invitation to balance one step at a time
to the opposite side of hazy light.
Silence sticks like sweat to skin
as gold slivers peek through foliage.

A bench stands like a protective soldier
and offers rest for the weary.
The sun throws shadows across the slanted surface
onto the cold ground around the stone head
where tossed dirt is still spread.
A marker that brims with life,
but represents the death beneath.
A place in memory of a beautiful life
that decays with the dirt and the leaves,
tucked away in a lone patch of trees.