when my love has fled
the ninth moon to the gulf of mexico
and she arrives there warm,
i will walk the glazed field
beneath the moon of long nights.

when my heart is broken
not by her absence nor regrets
but by the shadows cast
in the moon's blue light
on the snow,
i will make songs
of her leaveing.

for i have known her return
for seven decades
i have seen that promise realized.

and after i become moonless
i will stand where promise meets the past,
both overdue and out of reach
hostage to hunger to bare my arms to the sun,
and sleep
a leaf in the glow
of an opal moon.