Do you remember that time when you couldn’t sleep?
You were so sad then
You came out to see me and I knew you were coming
I remember I was eating and it was such a beautiful morning
Everything was covered in dew
The mornings aren’t usually that color, you know
They’re always pretty in their own way but that morning everything was such a soft blue
I remember watching you as you watched me walk toward you
You thought it seemed like I already knew you were coming
I knew you were in there not knowing where to be so I told you to come outside with me
Do you remember that fox?
I don’t think you knew that I was watching him, too, but I was
You thought it was magical
He actually would walk by nearly every morning. I knew him well
I can still feel you the same way you can still feel me, you know
You think about my hair and my smell
I think about those things, too
I can remember what your hands would feel like on my mane
All day we would walk. Sometimes silent for hours. Sometimes talking to each other. Your eyes would follow where my ears went and with that you learned to see
My ears taught you to see
And your voice taught me to trust
You would twist your fingers through the bits of mane that grew near my withers
I know you do that still with the little lock you have. I can still feel that, you know
I’m a sojourner
I have to keep moving
I have to keep going
But remember how I knew you were coming that morning?
Remember that time in the desert when you felt me but you also felt everything else?
That lack of separation?
I know you always say you never felt that again, but it’s right there
Remember when the birds were flying over our heads, knowing the cold was coming, and you said, “that’s how we talk”
We can still talk that way
Inside the quiet that pulls us with the tides
Inside the power that makes the plant lean toward the sun
I taught you to speak that way. Don’t forget