The hours

Yellow stains spread on an image
Of a child in a white dress
Shading her eyes from the sun
Laughter rang out through time
And the image eventually faded

Tired and weary, the men returned
Back to their huts in the mountains
At the close of another day
While the cool night wind stirred up
The woman’s dress, as she breathed in
The scent of the trees

She knelt in the glade
And laughed, a laugh that sounded through the woods
And smiled as she shed a tear
And stuffed her pockets with stones

I come to the mountains,
looking for you
Where the howling wind
Turns icy at night
I stand in a familiar glade in the forest
And discover
That a river runs through it.