summer sky

below the carroty summer sky

a gentle deer stands witness

as wolves stir in their dens

bears forage for berries and nuts

eagles glide over mauve mountains

and two chairs with cozy blankets

meant for nestling by a campfire

await

on the edge of a pine tree forest

beside the rocky cliffs

above the blue winding river that sings

in the stillness of nearing twilight

they follow the trail to their nestling place

anticipating decline, but still unready

for the force of the wounding scene —

the chairs are faded and rickety now,

blankets muddy and frayed,

vestiges of too many years

of unraveling and neglect —

and as they glumly lift their gaze

a lone eagle soars into view,

circling round, darting through clouds

floating upon wind bursts

until the sky flashes bright orange

their eyes meet in this moment

with a fondness from years past,

feeling this as a final effort,

a search for any clue

that their bond can survive,

that their dreams will not perish,

a wish to restore what time has worn away…

and as twilight falls

their open hearts hear the song

of the blue winding the river

and the wisdom of the eagle and the sky:

yes, there is still hope

This poem is a response to

Sahil Patel

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