I’ve walked through dreams, and long days that seem
Pulled from leaf-strewn memories of times
Burned like wildfire in our minds.
When we walked with ease through the trees
And spoke of days to come, and what we’d make
Before our dreams could grow brittle and break.
While in hooded haste the people passed by,
No one thinking to wonder why.
I’ve walked through wooded hills, and mountain fields
That slumbered ‘neath benighted sky
And thought of reasons not to die.
Of tarnished truth, the faded dreams of youth
The days I think of before I sleep
The vital memories only I can keep.
While in hooded haste the people scramble past,
No one wondering how long we’ll last.
Maybe I’ll find a hearth, and a loving heart
A quiet place, a separate space apart.
(I remember the painting in the gallery
Of a little quiet cottage in the woods.
And I told her I wanted to live there someday
But she said I had other things to do.)
Every day when I walk through the city
I wonder if I should have stayed with her or gone with them.
And the footpaths through the leaves and the grass
Paint pictures of all the days that have passed.
If I continue to roam, will I finally come home?
The books in the study all have their place,
Holding lost memories in their luminous space.
Meanwhile, the phantoms in the parlor come and go,
Dreaming of lost Jericho.
And I thought I’d finally found my place,
When I was sitting across from her shining face.
Then I remembered the dream always ends,
But my mind still pretends
As the old houses and streets all start to fade,
That I’ll be back there, some day.