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| Walnut |
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The
snow is almost here. He sees it there.
She hums in the background. The hairy dog
Is dead. Pull the ruffled curtain back. What is
The black box held by the woman with boots?
I will get my boots and coat and I will float
Through snow on steel runners, cold to touch.
And she will pull me where I don't know to go
And where she does not know. I will be shocked
Forever or what will seem or be forever.
The hitching post is made of stone, but
The singer, the tenor, is dead. The snow
Is almost here. And I know who she is.
She will not remember me when later
She hangs my hat upon a peg and cooks.
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