Now and then, again

My heartbeat filled my ears. The light was right and I saw silky, slow thoughts, but I closed my eyes. He was trouble at less than an arm's length. He was a long time ago and he was now. I turned to change the song.

In late September alone in the basement I remembered that a demon's fingers had touched me. Fingertips across bare skin.

Today in the woods in the rain the leaves whispered. Pooled groundwater flashed silver under the sky.

I heard him as I crossed a path, wiped water from my face, and lost the leaves' tinny words as rain hit harder and ran off the rocks.

His echo keeps me company. His soft-spoken words are everywhere.

Standing on a crest with Lily's empty collar in my hand I called her name. She darted after a squirrel, a scurrying sound, or nothing at all, and left me perched on glacial stone that had cracked beneath ice for decades.

I ran to a place where summer heat had dried spring's vernal pool and found deep pockets in the hollow. Dogs circled the edges. I remembered one day staring past forever, then locking the door before I could breath.