He washed the final smell of his Alabama home from the last comforter
from the last divide of things.
It was now the Fall before the Winter.
It was the second winter he’d known there.
He couldn’t remember having needed so many blankets.
Maybe she really never did get cold.
But, he told her:
I’ll never be a forest.
Trees and plants:not for him.
Time in the forest moves strangely.
When she’d first shown the long lasting puddle
on the side of the trail,
It’s Black Pool. Notice how nothing really floats and nothing really sinks here? It suspends, I guess.
He thought he heard her say something else.