if, ever, in a quiet place
(quiet as the moon is quiet),
so dark and still, 
–wide eyes, unseeing–
you ask the one question
we try to forget

and listen, as though an answer might actually come–
slamming into the earth 
like an errant meteor–
in that very moment
you will remember me

I was there, too,
once upon a time–
offering a smile to a wolf,
who smiled back,
after a fashion

carrying old books,
musty and torn,
stacked in order,
large to small,
the little green one
–your favorite–
falling from the stack,
landing silently in the grass
just off the rugged path

you may hear voices
crossing over the glassy plain, but
understand who speaks
and who 
does not

the question goes unanswered, 
as it should be

the great black hole 
at the center of our Milky Way turns,
closer and further,
just as you come and go 
from me