NOT EVEN IN OUR DREAMS
My wife and I went on a wooded walk.
We wandered through the crunchy leaves
and just began to talk.
The air was crisp and fragrant,
rich with earth's deep tones.
If only we could have a bottle,
to keep and call our own.
So there we shared some gentle words
about life and other things.
Then our souls went where words don't exist,
nor can they … not even in our dreams.
It's strange to live in such a place,
where peace and grief reside.
The loneliness of longing
forever at your side.
I saw my wife;
two lives rolled into one.
Arms filled with love and family,
yet empty, in search of our little son.
Yet something happened in the woods last night –
something we didn't quite see.
We knew the season was changing,
but suddenly we realized, so were we.
Grief evolves.
How could that be?
I think I see it now;
it isn't grief that changed, but me.
Yet there is still a deep, dark wood.
A place that is felt, not seen.
Where words of grief and anguish do not exist,
not even in our dreams.
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[REPOST from 2015]