my sylvan summer

this is how we loved dead things

(this is how I still love)

memories carved into bark 

flesh, my dear, our summer

is trapped in the corpse of a tree --

our initials on its heart-shaped tombstone

only the greatest happiness grown cold, cuts deep enough to kill 

leaving behind that ghost of you in the folds of my clothes

in my favorite musical notes

I strung together for you to wear unintentionally forever 

like a trinket you stroke holding the hand of someone more permanent 

still gracious how you parted from me, 

soft and gentle as a leaf floating off the branch 

(even your goodbyes were beautiful)

the sound of autumn 

the crushing steps slowly away

redbrown orange 

the color of this bruised heart at the remembrance of our 

smoldering something special