Looking for firewood
We were out for the day,
back in the forest.
I was looking for firewood,
dead wood;
you were bravely ducking dragons
and low and sneaky branches.
Rain was falling;
squirrels were so busy
rushing up and down a final summer rain;
leaves were whistling, wrestling, whispering,
singing and still sinuously clinging
to the soaked and laden trees.
You were looking for fairies and witches,
trails of bread-crumbs
and tales of adventure -
and I went along
and forgot about firewood,
and all the dead wood.
And I want you to know,
wherever you are,
I’m still out here,
here in the forest,
like a squirrel out of season,
like a stubborn, clinging leaf,
looking for firewood
and dead wood
and always for traces of you;
half-waiting for dragons and fairytale chances,
leaving these trails of hopeful crumbs
and dreaming of you.