Loneliness

I’m never lonely walking alone.
I don’t know why. Maybe I’m
engaged in the path, trees, light,

and shade that desires verification:
Will you remember me in ten years?
Yes. Still captured in mind, this wet

dip—a depression in the grass,
an arm’s length squared, two inches
of brown watering within, leaves

spoiling mud, diamonds acquiescing
to feeble currents, a mite, my simplicity.
Tell me loneliness exists in sparrows’

pantomime, or grasses’ bedhead.
Maybe time touches others—
but I haven’t felt it.