Retreating

Sitting under the shade

of our weeping-willow

on this warm

summer evening

watching the grass grow;

I return to another time,

like the songs we used

to hear together

on late-night radio,

when all was

innocent and easy,

walking along

that quiet road,

except for the sound

of our transistor radio,

hand in hand,

the way we were

always waiting on

the setting sun

so we could kiss

without a care

in moonlight,

then withdraw

from the road

down the dirt path,

secluded from sight

we make our way

with our hearts

racing wild

like the river

that runs there,

rushing forward

we put our feet

in the cool water,

laughing freely

like the young do

when something new

comes upon them;

the sounds of crickets,

bull frogs croaking, and

the splashing, laughing,                                                 

water of the river,

allowing me                                                                             

to fall asleep,                                                               

dreaming of us.