Copyright © Courtney Josephson
Our place has been defiled.
Where clever winding trails once were,
Now it has been torn open:
Exposed and immodest;
Cleaved and rent.
It is still a source of beauty and awe,
But there’s this ticking in the back of my mind
Like a wildly jealous lover:
Someone else’s feet were on these paths,
Someone else laid a hand upon this tree,
Someone else gazed upon the forest’s ripeness.
The worst offense of it all is that you’re no longer here.
I turn, expecting to see you just a step behind.
Or I’ll run to the turn in the path, in hopes of seeing you dash ahead.
Instead, I sit here alone in the woods. In silence.
Hating this feeling of the passage of time. Hating our place.
I have been changed so thoroughly,
Yet I look around and it’s like the world
Hasn’t noticed you’re gone.