Sometimes, I like to lay and think of her
Nothing too complicated
Just enough to keep me sated
Enough to keep me sane
Sometimes, I like to think I can hear her
Though its quite clear
She's not here
Her laughter is still the same
She sits in summer grass by the cornfield where,
like children, we chased a setting sun and in the time that passed
I saw revealed where her body had
In the rows she had run, and I knew, in that space,
if she left I would follow
I could do no less
I had come undone
Sometimes, I like to stop and picture her
Vivid photos in mind
Dreams of a kind
A glimpse of her again
But most of all
I like to think that she thinks of me too
Sometimes