Waiting for Night

Let’s go for a walk at sunset.

We’ll watch the snow blaze,

burn into night.

I’ve been waiting for night

to erase the meadow.

When the pictures are lost,

I can close my eyes,

I can vanish far

into sleep—where shattered

friends are waiting.

Their shaking hands reach

across the snow.

I run after one and cry—

leave me alone. He turns,

stares, opens his mouth

and can’t speak.

The day my father died

I went for a walk.

The cold leaves crashed

onto the lawn and flared.

His eyes flared. Look—

the sky is flaring. That’s it:

we’re finished with day.

At last I can curl

into myself

—as the snow keeps glowing,

those hands are reaching . . .

I heard the whispers: he’s gone,

leave him alone.

I stroked his hand for hours.

I don’t know how to stop.