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