The luck of those days,
not knowing where we came from —
it didn’t matter.

Those casual days,
in and out of our forests —
learning about love.

Wind coming on strong,
I still remember the day —
poetry out loud.

I imagine you,
I still take you everywhere,
I look for your face.

Mornings side by side,
the poetry in our ears,
dreaming of forests.

Summer keeps coming —
sun on blooming columbine,
clouds over the lake.

You were soft-eyed most,
my silent confidant who
I loved and I loved.

In the wilderness,
I think of you deepening
every step in it.

You’re in the stillness
whenever I stop to think —
the singing forest.

The sun on our heads,
I still think of it today —
our shared thankfulness.

The joy of it all —
milkweed globes just beginning,
the earth underfoot.

They are still all ours:
every discovery,
June lilac, milkweed.

You’re the missing thing,
amidst good things happening,
filling each silence.

Lying in cool grass,
on the earth and of the earth,
bees feed on clover.

There couldn’t be more
contentment on a June day —
I already know.

The sun rose on us
and we set out in the world
of benediction.

The premonition —
seeing love and protection,
rivers and forests.

I still talk to you,
goodmorning, Mack, goodnight, Mack,
it’s a lovely day.

In the cool mornings,
we were fresh and curious,
free and still unnamed.

Your eyes always shined,
it was our understanding
and our communion.