Thinking of that time

February 1991

Thinking of that time
when we lay on the grass by the fire and
idly passed words between us,
threw out dreams to whirl and dance
in the cloud of popping sparks,
I become quiet.

Thinking of that time
when you drove me through unknown country
to places I have never found again,
when each turn was carefree
and all directions smiled and beckoned.
I become still.

Thinking of that time
when, lying with you, your skin became my own
and I was a sleeping valley with a wide river
spreading slowly over me
pooling and resting, sun-dappled and warm,
Tears fall and dry.

Leaning on the clacking gate,
watching the darkness of that field
where our figures dance and walk
around me still,
I feel empty.