A WINTER OF ICE
I watch you stride into alder,
the air gray with mist or smoke.
The thermometer registers degrees
of distress: twigs fracture underfoot,
surprised mallards squat like decoys
on the frozen pond. Melting
from the center, a black pupil
ripples in a white eye.
Small trout rise like worries
as you pass by. Conversation splinters
between us. Most evenings I breathe
onto a mirror for reassurance,
while you check your pulse.
A ceiling of ice covers the stars;
coyotes howl beyond the pond,
ending in a sequence of high-pitched yips,
pure enough to shatter glass.
(Raven chronicles 1998)
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DEJA-VU --to my daughter Nicola
On an moonlit night, the splayed marsh fingers
Thirty years ago, as the train pulled away,
(Raven Chronicles 1998)
of Teal Slough slide into Willapa Bay.
Shimmering, silver-edged waves
rim a pewter tide.
Sandpipers scatter, tracking
indecipherable cuneiform script.
I scratch your name until a sheet of backwash
erases my goodbye.
all along
it would be this way;
inadequate words, useless
advice, arcing into silence.
Your shy half-smile,
restless feet, distant gaze
--your promise
to write every week, in Portuguese.
Your leaving.
I looked back at my mother -
helplessly diminished --a pale
receding figure, open hands
silently scripting loss. I left.
Nothing would ever be the same.
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