I look across the horizon towards the past, see the two of us walking. The poet and the one who had covered miles on foot. Her shadow was my shadow, my shadow hers. The poet still wanders, there accompanied now by the one they call Mnemosyne, the inseparable companion who took her past all the wildflowers, now gone missing, assumed beyond trace.
window sill blooms
seated beside them day after day
a scent of the stars