At Little Lake
OK, you’re not here but walk with me anyway
in this scraped-out forest
with its grimy snow
and its wet wet wood
and its rotten leaves
OK, you’re not here but you’re pointing out
the lime candy lichen
raccoon-paw puddles
that raven glistening on a black soaked branch
OK, you’re not here but I can
hear water sucking over stones
see the fox who sees me back
feel the blunt back edge of the slicing wind
OK, you’re not here but spring soon will be
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my lover took a painting in process one time and said 'it's done, this is mine' and hung it on the wall.
ReplyDeletelose timidity, hang this one.