“who they are”

it won’t be. we’ll stand
beside her as she sifts
through the wreck,
trying to figure out
where her construct
failed.        we wonder
if this is it, downturn,
ankles and wrists damp
with autumn river.

to us, even the forest’s
different – bright colours
now all hiding eyes, watchers
taunting, laughing, a pressure
building through our misting
breath. we’re about to speak
our mind and save the wolf
when she starts stacking

years later, after we’ve fallen
apart and grown again, we
come back to see the city
of little stone spires, growing
forest-like out of the riverbed.