Where You Really Want To Be

It was yesterday I
was siting by this creek, the

water was gliding over mossy stones and
brown fallen branches from elm trees;
it flowed so rhythmically
like a lullaby
coaxing me to lay my head down
for a minute or an hour;
I had no where to go.

The sun was shaded so right
as to provide enough comfort to
relax my worries and rest my eyes.

My arm fell to a soft gathering of leaves.
My head collapsed into the underside of
my elbow. I gazed horizontally at the
creek water presumably on it's
way to the gulf of Mexico, then

it disappeared into pink flesh as
I tried to ignore spots of sunlight licking
my eyelids from the restless leaves bowing
to the breeze. The creek water turbulence grew
louder to a soothing audible caress.

There I was staring
you in the face, holding
your hand, feeling you again;
as if you had never died.