Tuesday, November 1, 2011
somewhere in michigan, mid-day, just off the interstate
berries the birds have left deepen in their october blue
as sleet dry-whispers into the last hanging birch leaves --
trucks roar past, all hurry and wind
i want to turn and tell you that i loiter here
halfway on the long road
the flat miles in chains between us
yesterday a river lifted the year’s first few snowflakes
i breathed the cold from your hair
you opened your eyes over my shoulder
and gasped when a raven landed soundlessly in the top of a pine
we saw the raven fly again
but now I stop here to delay further distance
to touch the berries and ask you
as if you might hear -- knowing you will hear --
is the raven still there?
does the green branch sway in this wind?
tell me and i will believe --
is the snow still falling?
i drift among the forked trunks of the birches
wishing for your small pale shoulders in my hands