My wife and I went on a wooded walk.

We wandered through the crunchy leaves

and just began to talk.

The air was crisp and fragrant,

rich with earth's deep tones.

If only we could have a bottle,

to keep and call our own.

So there we shared some gentle words

about life and other things.

Then our souls went where words don't exist,

nor can they … not even in our dreams.

It's strange to live in such a place,

where peace and grief reside.

The loneliness of longing

forever at your side.

I saw my wife;

two lives rolled into one.

Arms filled with love and family,

yet empty, in search of our little son.

Yet something happened in the woods last night –

something we didn't quite see.

We knew the season was changing,

but suddenly we realized, so were we.

Grief evolves.

How could that be?

I think I see it now;

it isn't grief that changed, but me.

Yet there is still a deep, dark wood.

A place that is felt, not seen.

Where words of grief and anguish do not exist,

not even in our dreams.

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[REPOST from 2015]