To the poplar forest
The small singing leaves
In a dusk breeze
Time eloped, mutated
Time was me, eight years old
Head up, feeling the wind like a dog
Hair streaming behind
Careless, elated under a clear blue winter sky.
I walked down
To the poplar forest
I saw the tracks of memory blow away
Dusty, dry, easy to erase
I looked down,
Waiting to see your footprints
And wished they had solidified in the rainy season,
And wished you had stayed.
