Fieldborn

You walked, as you so often did, a few steps ahead.

Your silhouette leaned over, plucked the first stem

And I watched you do the rest.

(Watching is a form of gathering)

The field was our desire path

And we walked it for hours

As the sun sang between the clouds—

The ones I'd just photographed

(Photography is a form of gathering)

I am ever looking at the sky, even now

Wondering what happened back then

And how the foraged petals

fell from their stems.

I mean, it doesn't matter now

It really doesn't

I feel nothing writing this, trust me

(Feeling is a form of gathering)

But back then, back then

I felt it all. And I see it now,

Each petal was an omen—

White baby's breath became

the white of my knuckles on the steering wheel

And the vivid violet asters

dimmed to bruised egos, coalescing

with goldenrod sunlight.

It is hard to imagine the rays that day

Came from the same sun setting now

Above the valley, thousands of miles

From that field we once were

And from the roses in the vase (gathered)

Our photos in those frames (gathered)

The books in your bookcase (gathered)

And everything we so sweetly foraged

All for it to wilt

Burn

Get donated

I don't know what you did with the rest, honestly, but that's fine.

Ashes can also

Be gathered.

If memory serves,

you were its greatest master.

Remembrance, your first language,

was how you chose to love.

And this response, some years too late,

Is my remembrance of you.

(Remembrance is a form of gathering)