its spring again: green life
creepin up & usherin out

the cold North Wind

which took you away with it—

abruptly, leavin no time

for my soul to get used

to losin its other half,

but ive never been good

w/ goodbyes anyway, so

maybe that was a gift in itself—

&, now, in the quiet of my mornin room,

i ponder you in yr mountn grandeur

& i lose myself in thoughts of

when & how we next meet—

maybe it will be w/ Oregons

sweet loveliness at yr side or w/

little versions of me causin you

to trip over yr own two feet—

& in that moment we will both know

the bittersweetness of it all—

full happiness for the other,

yet wistful longin for the

“never was but coulda been”—

or maybe it will be full different—

maybe youll be standin there, placin

fresh flowers on my grave,

thinkin how it wasnt supposed to be

me who went first cause

i had won all my battle &

isnt life full of funny tricks afterall—

or maybe ill be turnin on my tv

& readin yr books faithfully

like Oprah told me to—

or maybe in the misty mornin

of some day yet to come, well

meet again at the edge of the world

& well dangle our feet over into

the sheer nothiness below, hands
clasped with tender affection,

sharin the essence of each other

& waitin for the sun to rise

& smile on all the beauty

we need only capture
when we take off & fly tgther