Low-hanging fruit

Walking together under leaf cathedrals,

down aisles too narrow for two to

go abreast, we pass

processionally

you in front

me behind

always the

same

 

Eye contact lost, silence soon falls

and pacing in your tracks I have

a sense of something solemn,

almost sacramental,

in our passage,

one pursuant

on the other,

through this

darkening

place