cricket bows

the trees scatter the sun’s yellow white light and it falls with shadows mixed on my arms, my legs, my shoes. my face too, i imagine, but that’s not something i can see right now. just the greens of leaves and weeds and the brown of the dirt underneath.

further on down this line there’s a rusted-out locker that sits beside the path in silence, holding nothing now except kid’s graffiti. its shell soft on the eyes and even prettier than a fallen tree.

you believe that?

you remember when we made it here?

the date has long since faded, but i still remember it was a summer night and hot and hazy halos hung around the streetlights that were scattered by the leaves in the treetops just out of reach.

sometimes – between you and me – sometimes i pass by there and imagine where we once stood. like if i squint real hard, i could still see the footsteps.