Peripatetic

If you were here, we’d take the trail behind my home.
We’d duck when piñon branches snag our hair
and ponder cactus sleeping deep beneath the snow.
If you were here, we’d walk the trails behind my home.
Like dogs, our hearts would chase wild rabbits into poems
and howl soft clouds of grief into the mountain air.
If you were here, we’d walk the trail behind my home.
We’d bow when piñon branches touch our hair.