I took to the woods, walking as we used to
underfoot the leaves decaying
the earth beneath us soft, mute
unyielding. I take a stick
am knocking, knocking
it won’t let me in.
not here, not here, you whisper
keep walking, walking.

I follow the stream, glacial, clear
peer in to the pebbles, the glazed boulders
hear your voice murmuring over the stones
not here, not here.

So I take to the hills, climbing, climbing
cannot get high enough, find the mountains
where the wind picks up, where the clouds lift
revealing grandeur in the sky
‘here,’ you are calling, ‘here, here!’