March 13, 2013
The leaves no longer
And scream
When I step on them—
Still moist from
The rain that came ‘round
Last night.

I settle on the small
Damp wooden bridge
That overlooks the
Shy stream.

I cast my eyes down,
The melody of the water
Runs through my ears,
And my eyes capture
The shine
Of the rocks that
On their sides until the
Current tells them

My face, echoed back
To me with the
Background of tall, dark,
Trees. I devour
The memories of the soft, kind
Now dead. I stand,
Finished with my rest,
And turn my back,
Not on the memories that
In the dark caves made by the
Rocks and moss,
But on the stream, and trees I grew with.
And leave.

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