The mind goes back to when he was alive
To possibility – and to his heart –
A bench out in the woods, a moment shared,
And how the world seemed bigger than it was
But there is only silence, and a way
Of seeing things that comes when overgrowth
Crawls over landscape, tree, and every inch
Of heart he left exposed to feel its touch
And who is she now, she that he recalls?
Comes there the night or day, where’er she is,
That she remembers him, remembers this?
Or does the wild ivy hide the bench?
For all that is connection can be lost;
For summer burns and winter kills with ice,
And old age holds illusions to the last,
Though none may sit again as they did there