I can almost see you. Faded, but the colors remain. Muffled, but all the meaning you meant to give me is still living there in the stone, the moss.

And in the shadows you weep, but not quietly. The shadows here are loudest when these human eyes are empty, gasping for the daylight they left at the door.

What I remember of you lies in the fields between where we watched each other. The blossoms in the spring, the leaves in the fall. And your eyes in fixation as Polaris in the sky.