Your heart was like a forest lake
Pulling into it the summer night.
Your mind was like a grove
Of fir trees kneeling
Before the shadow-spirited fell.
The cadence of your soul
Was like a vein of sea
Too far inland to bother
Your dreams were like the quiet whoosh
On the heaven-scraping moors
But your face…
Your face has been made invisible
By the transparent blue fog
Of time and distance.
Thank God, that was the most
of who you were.
The autumnal quiet
When all that’s left
Are pine needles and
A defenseless barren moor.
And the inflamed sky walks
Among pines, leaving
Bloody footprints among
Thorns. But I
Do not fear the quiet,
I do not need to hurry
Before dusk. I willingly
In my heart to let in
I feel most at home
In Nameless places
Where people hide their nests
Swaying on fragile branches.
Where there is time to stop and listen
To life whispering promises of wings
Waiting at the journey’s end.
You cannot tame the night
Even with the mild summer wind.
If you Season your heart
With sea salt;
With the bitterness of soil,
It will still stick to your rubber soles,
Lining every fold in your skin.
Obstinately, you can rattle
Its freedom –
Drifting among birch and maple,
Leafing through light saber hollows,
And whittling shadows into horrors.
But you cannot freeze the wings
Of life and death with your fear,
The night is like a wild animal:
A spring morning hiding in the fog,
A sharp north wind watering in your eyes –
It will come to you like a friend
When you stop chasing it
With your nets and chains,
Flashlights and hooks.