By Toby Dossett
The forest holds the language of grief
With a fluency I am yet to master
Saplings bow under the weight of the sky
That speaks only in questions
A stag’s steps are forgotten promises
Moving like the edge of a dream
The shadow of a boy I once knew
Is he watching me like I want him to?
The hawk tears too
Crying, waiting
What does it hunt
If not the silence between us?
Like when I call the stag
But my voice is a stone that sinks
He tilts his head
I’ve stopped longing and he knows
The laughter we left hanging in the branches
Alike the memories we whispered to the fire
Now dust upon dust
Was it you who taught me
How to carry the weight of an empty clearing
Or was it the wind
Always pulling, always leaving
To become is to mourn
Still, the forest holds us
Roots tangled with absence