Pastures

High grass pastures at morning
were my soul's palette
my eyes on wide to miss nothing
I cleaned my brush on dew wet thighs
and allowed the spider threads to settle where they might

Nothing knew the mornings like the meadowlark
and what she said in her song
was an invitation to mysteries below the grass heads
step too close and she would rocket to the sky
and take the secrets with her

Even then I dreamed of you
and the pastures you traversed
sentient footsteps that cared where they fell
a conscience that could overcome the unconscionable
a line of sight that matched the meadowlark's

I've since traded the pastures for mowed lawns
yet kept my dreams of you
but my palette has faded to monochrome
and you have taken wing beyond my horizon
and fly in patterns I can only imagine

Some day I'll walk afield
and spy a feather from our past
and as I twirl it between thumb and finger
I'll be reminded of the moment that I first loved you
and I'll drink that memory deep into my being