Alone

On days where I've lost my purpose, days when I don't know what to do, I go to that park.

I walk our walk, under canopy trees between wooden benches with wrought iron curves. I think of you.

I look at the lake. Today it's frozen, and the weather is cold. Our ducks have left.

I look at our grass. It's darker now, dying.

I look at that tree. It still stands, stooped, hunched over in pride. Branches flying everywhere, dark green leaves.

I swear sometimes as I pass I can see two young lovers under that tree. On that red and black checkered blanket that guy got from his father. With that picnic basket you bought window shopping in France.

They say there's a time and a place for everything. So I go back to that place and I sit alone on a bench, wishing it was a different time.