Once you came out of the far

Off mountains and no one

Recognized you. You who

 

Once came away with the

Sunlight on early morning lakes.

The sweet smell of grasses

 

And songs lost beneath pillows

We found in the very back of

Dark closet walls. Autumn or

 

Winter for us on hills and the

Way the mountain felt like a

Way of knowing that was lost

 

Long ago. The hills and sweet

Rain on broken panes and the

Endless calls of smallness and

 

The way we walked off as I

Called through trees with wind

That muffled all the sound.

Published by Matthew Henningsen