Remembrances on the pines

A few steps upwards,
the lake was very still and
rain had just passed, leaving
remembrances on the pines

nearby some rustling
leftover leaves from the fall
but no voices or movement
besides ours, a quiet thrill

greater than the sum
of spring rain and empty boats,
scanning acres of rock left behind
after a forgotten upheaval

long ago in a familiar pattern,
where lines cross and disappear
the way rain falls into flowers and hair
and small smiles, and they all grow.


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