Not the moon
but like the moon
watched from a hilltop,
his grief rose within him
ghostly and beautiful
with light from a sunken sky.
There above him it hangs.
Forgive him his seclusion.
Some kinds of damage
provide their own defense,
secure in the ruins
with the privileges of solitude.
And if you see him
in the ash field
ragged and gesturing
as you round the bend,
do not be mistaken,
he is not signaling for rescue.
—a cento composed of lines from Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway," and Richard Shelton's "Local Knowledge."
