You died two years ago

Last time the tides stopped coming in, I knew I’d left
The beach; and after the climb leveled, I never went back
To those mountains

Again.

The memory I have sits fading in its frame, but the place
You stood is bare. You weren’t there

Anymore.

And without the sand, without the trees, all that’s left to me is
Valleys—the spaces in between the peaks where rivers run—
Where wolves don’t howl

In peace.

I nestle in the leaves and sometimes wait for dawn to
Break without a single moment of sleep. I don’t really rest

Here.

I suppose when the valley shrivels, I have the canyons. There are
Plateaus and buttes and plains and basins,
But I don’t have the beach or the peaks and I don’t really know
Anymore where

I am.

It’s cold sometimes down here by the dirt, and other times
It’s warm. There are nights I feel the soil has held every ounce
Of sunbeam: and others I feel it’s never been touched

By light.

And through the eves my eyes don’t close, the time is
Misconstrued like broken glass: a relic from the days I spent
With people. There were days I tried to live 

Like normal.

It’s here in the valley and under the moon and away
From the waves, out of sight from the peaks that I feel
I can

Breathe. 

The memory I have may sit fading in its frame, but I don’t look 

If I can help it.

The impressions I have seared into my brain are all that I
Have to hold to. They’re all that I want and 

I hold to. 

 

Stay gold,
Sabrina