both of us wanting to believe when you said this would be
the place you'd come to if you could--I seldom
come here and wait on this log turned almost into stone.
Even though keeping our word was life between us, given
all that in trust, still I seldom walk under these trees,
redwood and eucalyptus, the branches of Monterey pine
over the path opening farther than we could see the morning
you told me you'd surely try to come. I've tried being here,
stopped and stood quiet to see if you would make it, but I'm
always either too early or too late and just miss you, in time
only for a voice that tells me living my life's a way of being
faithful. Even though the trees keep changing and love is
behind or ahead of me in the clearing I trust as I trust
this ground: the duff and dark needles underfoot, the light
through high green lace pulling the trees into the sky.
--Jeanne Lohmann
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