Orion's belt grows dimmer and i'm certain
i'll never smell those hills again
a trickling creek and
standing stone
2 faces shine from a pile of rotting leaves
the aging photographs the only way we'd have ever known
we tramp through the silent night
only we know the sound snow makes
the sound snow makes as it falls in pitch black dark
a burning rubber boot
the smell of smoke on my shirt
and in my hair
we lie with the dogs we rub their bellies
we chew on fat and debt and dispair
i'll never smell those woods again
that patch of pine
that gaping hole
the forest floor was whole once
autumn leaves all float down
in their own time
and in their own way