Earlier this month
you stood among the milkweed,
smiled and walked and walked.

For Mack

Not that long ago,
I read Mary Oliver
out loud to us both.

Towards our deep forest,
sixteen degrees and we ran,
owls hooted, sun shone.

My birthday morning
you wanted to see sunrise,
the moment, alive.

The world without you,
you’re on that path alone now,
everything is strange.

For Mack

Your big closed-eye smile,
sun warming the cold meadow —
I’ll look for you here.

For Mack

You take the lead now,
decide on the right forest,
blue sky, long shadows
(and wait for us there).

For Mack

The stars make strange shapes,
not meant to be understood,
we two underneath.

For Mack

I’m greedy for time,
the circle won’t be broken,
sun dogs in the sky.

In the dark tangle,
we’re in the same mystery,
the robin and me.

Here with Jane Kenyon,
James Wright, Theodore Roethke,
in the otherworld.

Chambered like a heart,
steadfast as a pair of lungs,
milkweed husks beat, breathe.

The last hours of light,
twittering at the green pond
from all directions.

We can go back in time,
drive the sunny streets, now changed —
those we’ve lost, not lost.

I don’t know the sky,
clouds take shapes and disappear —
stars aren’t on my side.

Every gold leaf
of the ginkgo has let go,
buried soon, till spring.

First snow, the ginkgo
dropped every leaf overnight
to see its beauty.

We take our worries
on a walk around the lake,
wind shakes leafless trees.

The cloud floats above,
the cloud lands in the cold lake,
the cloud floats below.

Blooming in the rain,
uncrushable lace — alive,
forest voices, low.

for Mavis Staples