Lately roots awaken from slumber
Memories dispersed,
Whispers past
Silent picture of her in a blue dress
Running the fields like a promise.
In autumn leaves lives matter
Of this present consistency of body,
And in the spring it still floats in seedlings,
like her spirit.
Along the old park quiet rocks lay
Remembering her fields,
Special loves I did not live
And yet we correspond,
As does love when it reaches far,
Giving no reason for lengths of time.
Lately, her past is a promise
The possibility of all I carry forth
That won’t be lost.
Real butter on toast each morning
Steaming coffee and cream,
Her life enough to build my own
When in the early winter I reach
For the knitted blanket
Still stowed in the linen closet.
Roots awoken keep spreading
the ground unbeknownst my treading feet
sheltered in old hikers boots
when and where many pasts come to meet.