We walk hand-in-hand down a green grass path.
I see the undersides of overhead leaves.
They are a deep brown, so odd this soon in the year.
It’s as if we’ve come into an early fall.
I mention this, and you say the tops of the leaves are green.
There is a tunnel up ahead, no light at the other end.
We enter, I glance at you, and you disappear in darkness.
I squeeze your hand but it’s no longer there.
Finally finding my way out at the other end,
I look for you, call your name.
Night is coming and the wind is up, blowing the tree branches bare.
I pick up a leaf, see the brown side, turn it over and see brown.
The fall had come early, and summer never came at all.
I lie in bed, unable to understand the mystery of where you’ve gone.
Finally, exhaustion takes me under, and I dream.
You are here again, your breath on my face, looking into my eyes.
We hold each other, tight, gently rocking, inseparable,
permanent partners eternally set in a singular way.
Lanning Lee 