Then it's into the woods
in the cooling dusk,
to let the night close over me
in a dome of candlelight,
to hear the train in the valley
calling for rain,
to hear the flying squirrels
scuttering over the siding,
deer snuffing and stamping
somewhere beyond the cabin porch,
To read what i read there,
making my notes,
old wisdom from those
used to being alone,
alone in the dark,
daring to face their own lives,
daring to feel what they felt,
to think what they thought,
writing it down,
shaking off sadness with a shudder,
"Sorrow is a river
older than desire,"
that sort of thing,
then to blow out the candles,
one at a time,
smoke curling up into the rafters,
the dark in its orderly fashion
falling across the hills
as I find my way
back to the house.
I walk alone.
My head is full.
