44

gone away,

there are walls

through the woods

where pasture yawned

the soft echo of a different green

lingers in hay fern and moss

gone away, love

the barn between the giant maples

reduced to this square

where the floor was poured too well

the loft, vanished between

those velvet fingers of loss

gone away, love, but

there are walls

running from the brook
to the old road

and so often, when walking here

I mean to sing your name

gone away, love, but still 

I mean to sing 

43

the last island

where the rapids split

elegance and stone

where sycamores rise

mottled gray, the

bones of a writhing valley

that place

all black sand

and

I had a red dog

who on this island

years ago

did long, vicious battle with a coyote

and when it was dead for sure

and buried deep

returned

over and over, to dig up the ribs

its graceful spine

the mask-like, yawning pelvis

and long, sad limbs

forever

we wade the rushing water

to lost islands

and dig

42

so it turns out your fall

was no accident

that nearing the end of the final pitch

you turned, and the beauty below

was greater now than

any above

so you loosened your grip

as we all will, and dropped back

against the deep, wild years

a sweet wind blew across your face

the sun splashed gold

on the endless rock

and that was

that