Remembering

When there was air, when you could

breathe any day if you liked, and if you

wanted to you could run, I used to

climb those hills back of town and

follow a gully so my eyes were at ground

level and could look out through grass as the stems

bent in their tensile way, and see snow

mountains follow along, the way distance goes.

Now I carry those days in a tiny box

wherever I go. I open the lid like this

and let the light glimpse and then glance away.

There is a sigh like my breath when I do this.

Some days I do this again and again.

~William Stafford