LONG AFTER HE IS GONE
All the summer’s night
I dream I am awake reading,
following sentences that follow
a woman who finds her husband
by following his footsteps
in snow. She needs
to forgive him, to be
forgiven. When I wake
the street beyond my window
is white and banked
I’m the top of the food chain. I eat
ice cream and the cow it came from.
I eat trees. I eat fertilizer that makes bad
dirt good. I eat badgers and big cats
and wolves. I eat moths
and frogs and the herons that eat them.
What’s an ouzel? Is that a joke?
Give me a chance here—I can
make you very comfortable.
C’mon, drink this river. It’s free.