Particles of our last conversation
fuse with the droplets of mist,
and the last word you said, goodbye,
hovers below the lush hemlocks,
then descends to the needled forest floor
alighting like a toy parachute.
What remains is the primitive splendor
a wilderness affords, of places shielded
from “development” and man’s fixation
with houses and office space
from materials once round, now cubed
and planed. Sand and wood transmogrified.
The quieting balm of running water
and the whisper of wind through the spruce trees
was always enough to salve my bruised soul,
the chafed cicatrix of every day living.
But now, that curative essence is diminished,
the empty space right next to me
that once held your form and your laughter
seems colder than before, less real.
It was always you and nature,
nature and you, for so many years.
I see a long, long season ahead
in which I must become acquainted
with nature and loneliness,
loneliness and nature
and a million other wildernesses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem