©Shers Gallagher 2016
The days grow colder and my heart grows bolder
to hear the call of the totem wolf,
though limbs begin to rattle like the branches of a tree
as leaves turn bright before they fade and quietly fall,
drifting down and crumbling into air
that smells of crackling pine and roasting logs of cedar.
I missed you then as I miss you now.
But most of all I miss my youth
and the dance I used to be.
Not the dance of whirring bees,
because I never was a hostile takeover.
I miss the playful shadows of light
and soft breezes on silken feathers.
I miss the easiness of then,
though, in truth I’m more physically comfortable now.
And yet I’d give it all up for only a few more
playful shadows of twilight and silken days.