It was a long walk, that four miles crisp stillness hanging tangible in crystal air glass-lake-path rising falling twisting turning here then there. You grinned tolerantly with knowing eyes my new book and I must have classified every tree boots clumping noisily, with friendly look at passers-by. We were tired that good day, butter heart, you are now part of my past, restricted, still-sought and today I would dearly love you here with me.next poem