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| from the public domain |
I turn off the game
and listen to the wind.
The rain tapers off
and the snow begins.
I stand at the sink
and watch it fly
swirling in the yardlight,
first of the season
and like it never left.
In the long solitude of evening
nothing seems more important.
I had stopped by to see you
but you were just leaving.
We waved to each other
behind windshields.
I turn off the yardlight
and climb the stairs to bed.
The wind sings me to sleep.
I meet you there.
It's best this way.
