I miss morning light dappled across off-
white pages of out-of-print poetry.
I miss waking up to the blackbird’s song
and the goose’s melancholic question.
I miss ambling down the dirt road remains
of a lane once tread by Mary Janes on
their way to the one-room schoolhouse.
I miss giggling with the deer when they
appear like whispers around the bend.
I miss the whole self I only piece together
and surrender surrounded by trees.
I miss opening my window to silence.