Saudade

Letter-stacked as a Victorian 

dictionary, 

only taller. You recite 

words to yourself to fill the 

space between breath 

and silence. Hirpling through 

an unkempt forest 

with thoughts of frozen lakes 

and a hearth laid out 

for winter. Solstice. Spiced, 

reddening as maple 

leaves shifting-seasonal, moody 

as a wasp hiding 

below a handrail. Somewhere, 

too far for walking 

you recall 

a manicured path 

maintained by the trident 

feet of wrens. Somewhere, 

even further: an anthology 

of milk-teeth chinkling 

in a silken purse. 

Treasured by a child 

at bed. A child full 

of the energy 

of summer grass 

hoppers, expectant as 

the harvest 

moon. As 

far, now, from 

your empty hands 

as hieroglyphs, 

sand, 

old-order.

Author's Note

2015