We walked two paths in late September. The green leaves of the trees, in their last days, prepared for the end. We wished their glorious death would come sooner and last longer.

We walked the first path in the morning. The red-brown riffles to our left whispered stories of a thousand autumns come and gone. We were thankful for the twenty-seven you’ve lived.

We walked the second path at noon. The abandoned railroad ties shook with the memory of train blasts and younger days. We laughed about mystery-food birthday parties.

within
every five
inhalations
of life,

there is a
new muse.

there
would be
days
when i would
remember you
for brief moments,
and in those
fleeting moments
i would find
traces of
our love.