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When the breeze lifts the leaves
and the ground fills the air
I see us; fumbling about that innocent
slope of a hill, its trees and branches
with no idea the secrets they'd shield.
Dirt, stone, and grass mingling vividly
with the scents of a first love's breath
caught, not quite sure how long it'd be
before the spell broke or the bells rang
and reality touched that innocent
slope of a hill. Its branches with no idea,
dirt, stone, and grass mingling
with the scents of a first love's breath.

Mud and rock

I hung posters in his room today;
comic book heroes, Disney favorites,
good guys galore.

I wondered when you'd see it,
when you'd walk through the door.

Likely a year's worth of Sundays;
by then would the heroes be new ones,
would Disney stop gracing the walls?

Would my hair go grayer, the lines deeper
by the time you stepped over the porch
into the house you've not ever seen?

I'm no less afraid of the ending
these days.

It's a little like trying to wade
through mud and rock with no boot
or stick to guide the way.

No real path just jumbled vines,
random rocks, and mud that appears
to take on a life of its own.

Leaving mine, and his, with little hope
that wading through to the end
will do more then ruin shoes,

jeans, or even jaw lines, when
it gets too deep.