She walks among the pines,
stepping softly from tree to tree.

So careless, and carefree
wistfully aiming her gaze back at me.

Lightened but strong,
endless and long.

The longing.
The connection.
The original script
— no corrections.

She closes the door to my mind then.
— suddenly, and gone.
Was she there?
Was my memory wrong?

I wake then …
And my mind wanders into the distance —
and wonder —
Where is she now
and where has she been

It’s late in the morning
I’m pacing the halls
— She rings

“Don’t fret — Everybody falls”
…. sigh of relief
“We’ll be ok — Be safe….”
“We look forward to your calls”

Thanks for reading my poetry. I travel for work, and we have five kids at home — I find myself waking in a frantic worry that things are ok.

The things we do for money never ceases to amaze me. And not in a good way.

— Hans, 2019