I
That morning
is only as you remember it
imperfectly
And a woman
walks the green mall lightly
in her own light summer dress
She is neither the woman
who started toward you
nor she who will finally arrive
At your window
the first white insects of winter
sting the glass
II
Morning blows from the northwest
Around her everywhere elms are dying
Teeth shriek in their carcasses
All day they will fall for burning
Her heart beats in her ears
Her breath is wet silver
She walks the weeds barefoot speaking their names to the water
Buckhorn Lambsquarters Sheep-Sorrel
Yellow Rocket Black Medic Heal-All
Fish tug the sun into a dozen silent targets on the lake
It is all there
the emptiness gentle in her hands
III
She is not herself
There is nothing she has not wanted
But the room has kept to its own whiteness
She has seen the sky gather on the river
seen it skid over the falls into a flock of water
Wind slid over her arm like warm nylon
Knowing that yes is a question, she’d loved him
she did not need
to be able to say so
But waking into his room
her breath itches
with something he left no trace of
The room is too clean too cold
Its edges peck at her like an old address
she is too young to forget
Should she consult her marvellous shoes
they would tell her nothing
five floors above the ground
Let her walk down to the morning fire-haired
trailing her darkness behind her into the wet grass
Let her enter the schoolroom of broken children
She will teach them to touch their anger with the tips of their fingers
