I went on a pilgrimage
Not to Mecca, or the Wailing Wall
Not to Graceland, or the tombs of other saints
This was a tiny pilgrimage
I stood by the ruins of our old family home
Kicking rocks into the burnt out basement
Letting the ghosts swirl
So young and sure of themselves
Yet clueless about love and life
They laughed and cried and questioned hurt they will never understand
I drove down narrow roads and stood in open fields
I told my friend where I had been
“The willows are gone” he said
Nothing more
Shorthand for our childhood
Simplicity
Smooth hands on furrowed bark
Bodies swinging in the curved crowns
Stem to stem
Under the endless skies of summer
I walked to the streambed
Where in spring the water ran deep
Dog and her human, we had skirted the edge and crossed on a fallen tree
Now the stream was a trickle
Summer storms had pounded the muddy bank
Erased the boot prints and pawprints
Washed away the scent of her fur
The fragrance of the unseen forest
The brush and the brambles
I laid with you in the half light of the day’s end
Your face against my chest
Sharing the gentle wisdom of life
The mundane wonder of existence
The rise and fall of our breath
The steady rhythm of our hearts
Accumulating toward a finite sum
Two pilgrims holding each other
Talismans against awakening to nothingness
It was there my soul found peace