The Bear Path
by
Amethyst

By the summer house
the path we ran is brown
with pine needles. Underneath,
impressions of our childhood hardpacked
and constant as my dream.

I see you dodge the rock, leap the hollow,
dance across roots, jump the
log, feint at the boulder
leaning out into the trail.
We run endlessly,
never missing a step
In speckled sun and shadow,
the evening warm with dragonflies.

What will I find when I find you. . .

On an island, in long grass whipped
and bowed down by wind,
I stood in footprints worn
centuries deep into the earth,
impressions no shoes could fit.
Thousand-year-old ghosts
walked through me,
generations of giant bears
placing their feet
in steps their ancestors made,
following the same trails forever.

On the bear path I was alien,
trespasser, invader
in this place that belonged
to someone else. . .

Will They feel our ghosts
in the places that were ours,
Do They feel at all?

Have They made you one of Them?

Can you still dream of a path
in the woods where we once ran
down to the beach by the summer house,
and the scent of pine needles roasting in the sun,
and shadows flickering
bright with dragonflies?

Can you remember me?