The woods are silent

except for the soft rumblings

of water tumbling over the rocks

in the stream and

the campfire’s hungry mumblings reaching for

logs just out of reach.

Even the waterfalls know that

for today, they will cease to a trickle because

they too are hungry for rain

that hasn’t fallen.

My words are silent

except for the soft memories that

tumble over my heart of the

days spent with you and

my soul’s hungry yearning reaching

for your voice

just out of reach.

Even the lines in my face know that

for today, they are grief’s sentinels since

they too are proof the life I’ve lived

after your death.