Was It Not You

Did I not walk in harmony with you in the soft light before that dawn

          Remember? the birds awoke each other with that sleepy singing

Through the tall wet grass and early summer flowers

          Among the stately ponderosa pines, was it not you and I?

When a gentle breeze stirred no leaves but merely caressed our foreheads

          And the hot and dirty city we once called home seemed so far away

The moon still rode above us but the light began to grow upon the hills

          Was it not you who looked into the distance without a trace of sadness?

Surely it was your eyes which reflected the peaks marching to the horizon

         I know that I remember walking quietly with someone every other day

Although just one figure was outlined against the sky, I did not stand alone

          Certainly we found no need for speaking with our hearts so very full

Did we not pause here in silence as the dew gathered upon our sturdy shoes?

          And we watched that old dog snuffling deeply in every nook and cranny

I know that you were there, for had you not always loved it just as much as I

          That sweet smell of morning somewhere, walking in the mountains

Indeed, it must have been you, with whom I shared those silent thoughts

          Our paths are only separated by the thinnest veil of ordinary time

Was it not yours, this hand I felt so lightly on my shoulder?

          Surely you had whispered something softly just across the years

Were you not the one in whom I saw myself when I was so much younger?

          Or did your grandma once look at me as if she had known me long ago?

And likely you will someday notice that I stand here quite close beside you

          And likely you notice someone who joins with you long, long from now

Did you not strive to point out some magical form in those far-off clouds?

          Did you not stand in wonder with me before the paintings in the cave?

Was it not you who drinks a pint for us just as I drank to both you, and them?

          Did I not feel that same joy for living that fills you now, so very ong ago?

My hands, like yours, were weak, grew strong, then turned old and gnarled

          I felt the sun upon my forehead just as you feel it caress you now

Could I not hear your sweet, clear voice as you sang the song of your life?

          Here I was when you came of age and stood sniffing this fair wind

Were these not the tears of joy you shed, that dry now upon my cheek?

          As we smell the air and see the dawn and hear a wind in the leaves

Did not the dust to which you had returned to, cling upon my own sweaty neck?

          And am I not now a simple part of the good earth beneath your feet?