I hear your absence, silent as the trail
between the sticks of barren winter trees.
They long to be remembered, to avail
themselves of verdant, peaceful reveries
when I can hear you running by my side,
across the bridge of demarcated space
which spans a summer’s brooklet, stride for stride
we run together. Nothing will replace
the metaphor of you when I can feel
the failure of my strength; you are my heart.
It’s difficult to run, almost surreal
to move at all when we are miles apart.
I feel your presence, softly as a dream
each time I cross some difficulty’s stream.