We call them our "woods walks," as though the trees
Walk with us; one follows, one leads -- each sees
Us, seldom hand in hand because the light,
Leaf-filtered, tinted, already binds us,
And should we ever become lost, finds us.
We're tall oaks branching each other's delight.
You say you always find here perfect calm.
I feel it too, my love, I feel through you.
In a leaf, I see tracings of your palm,
Read our future, not real, perhaps, but true.
Sometimes you walk ahead and look for birds,
The screech owl (unicorn!) in its knothole,
Never yet seen, though you search every bole,
Your face a lovely sonnet without words.
Posted on our 38th wedding anniversary.