The Path

I waited for him that Fall. I stood right where he left me waiting for him to come back.
    The path pulled the leaves over it, preparing for the cold winter. I tried to remember what it looked like, your foot prints next to mine. 
                               Spring came... you didn't.
     I waited as long as I could, wishing, hoping, praying that the words you whispered, that had long ago blown away in the wind had gotten caught in the trees. That the rain might bring them back to me.
     I held my breath every time a bird sung, not wanting to miss its song in case it was the one you sang to me.
     At nigh I laid under the stars watching them, the only witnesses . I wanted them to shine your name, point me in your direction, just replay me what they saw if that's all I could have .
     I touched the tree you first kissed me under, placing my hands, my fingers where yours were the last time you kissed me.
     I waited well into summer hoping that you just couldn't find the path, that new flowers and grass had grown over it , that the dry river we walked had filled...
             only to find the leaves changing again, the path covering, everything turning cold.