old haunts

I frequent the past,
not quite in my mind. 
I frequent our future haunts
laid-out, we never did find.
Are you here, too? 
I feel your presence
in the air ahead. 
It smells like baking
and sweet cut grass,
and musky earth
with pressed blossoms 
from books. I sense
your presence each place 
I look, but can't quite see 
everything we took. 
You feel my presence 
in the air behind. You are 
in here - as I know now, 
know. I can't catch up 
to you this way, though. 
This isn't the way
the future decides
to go.