Hexagons

Hexagons cut into all the picnic tables.
Humidity like the inside of a shoe.
I sit there with the sharply drawn graffiti,
and the think about the world now without you.

We built a wooden bridge together
over a small stream in the deepest
parts of the trail so people wouldn’t
have to get their feet wet.

It turns out it was something no one wanted,
but that was always you, trying to anticipate
people’s needs; always ready to surprise.
I step across its boards and watch the sunrise.

I walked around all day and looked at everything,
desperate for something to remind me
of how things were. Most of it does
but not in the way that I wanted.
I needed a moment that never appeared
when I called.

It gets darker and I cannot see the treeline.
It melts away into the deepest night.
I take small steps on the ground I feel
in front of me. Your memory is my only
guiding light.