for the birdsong
for the sunlight
for the touch of warmth on the curled ends of poppies and hound’s tail

she misses me  but I no longer know what that means
nor I think does she
it is what we say  like I love you  or  how is the weather there

the time away is more than the time together
it has been for quite a while  now
the months piling up into years  the counting stops
it is easier to simply live
to just call

out on a warm spring morning 
I remember her face from before
was there a smile
can I hear a laugh
lost to the mists of reminiscence 

perhaps like me
they were too heavy to pack out
the expression static with the concern once the breach was forged
a mother hooded in forgetting