Someone to be sad with,
someone else who knows,
to sit with on the porch
when the sky bleeds through the hemlocks
and the blue-green lights come on
around the corner post,
and we become the dark side of the earth.
Someone to be quiet with,
looking out across the field,
ashes scattered there,
mostly from the old wood stove
we read beside in winter,
in our doubled silence,
and in hers.
(15 years after a daughter's death)
