He left. His love, once present, now burrowed into the ground like a squirrel at night, resting its body. Or preserving its food. He said Don’t worry, my kit. Everything will be okay. If you look straight you might not see me. Glance up or down. But don’t dwell. Like the seeds, his shell was submerged in soil. Frozen like winter water, leaving the squirrel to struggle to retrieve its lifeline. Burrows were closed, protected. Food once gifted by nature, returned. The squirrel mourns for its loss. For a trail leading backwards. However, while the heart grows empty The stomach must fill. Going forward Absence follows.