A Wilderness without You

Particles of our last conversation
fuse with the droplets of the mist,
and the last word you said, goodbye,
hovers below the lush hemlocks,
then descends to the needled forest floor
alighting like a toy parachute.

What remains is the primitive splendor
any wilderness affords, of places shielded
from “development” and man’s fixation
on building houses and office space
from materials once round, now cubed
and planed. Sand and wood transmogrified.

The quieting balm of running water
and the whisper of wind through the conifers
was always enough to salve my bruised soul,
the chafed cicatrix of every day living.
But now, the curative essence is diminished,
the empty space right next to me
that once held your form and your laughter
seems colder than before, less real.

It was always you and nature,
nature and you, for so many years.
I see a long, long season ahead
in which I must become acquainted
with nature and loneliness,
loneliness and nature
and tender reminiscences.

This poem was written/submitted by Sonny Rainshine.