Spring shadows climbing
across fields and up trees —
your eyes like chestnuts.

Spring comes without you,
all of our ponds will crack, thaw,
I see you there, here.

The hope doesn’t go —
thinking of my life with you,
in these cold, hard days.

You sat on my foot
as we surveyed the bright day
and our place in it.

After a shared day,
I didn’t take it lightly —
any part of it.

These woods, full of birds,
we walked through in ice, mud, rain,
songs filling our ears.

Heat off the water,
your awareness of the life
moving around us.

It’s hard not to think
that you’re coming back someday,
warm under my hand.

In late November
I crawled into this dark place
filled with your absence.

Flush in the sun,
you watched the day coming in,
velvet ears shining.

The beavers still work
on these trees by the river —
I think of us here.

Spring winds have begun,
I keep a forest for you
of fresh bloomed lichen.

Content as ever
with bare-bones, early fall sun,
your familiar grass.

Sun warming your fur,
you quivered in evening grass,
happy to just be.

You smelled all flowers,
learned of every animal
who also walked there.

You loved the green world,
happy with the feel of it
under your feet, nose.

The sun hung for you,
green earth warming underneath,
your eyes shined bright brown.

Our world was ornate,
a thousand mornings of sun —
tall grasses thread through.

You’re out ahead now,
some hidden path, soft grasses
under your soft feet.

The sun is the show,
I pull my chair up to it,
write (read) poems for you.