What dream was lost when the fox's cry broke into the dark
calling his mate across the field, and woke me to the dark?
No one speaks the language anymore, those who escaped
blamed hunger or weather when they spoke of the dark.
One summer, we traveled from country to country.
High on the mountain, village men stoked fires in the dark.
Only a thin pane between us and the frozen world
the cold carries the smell of wood smoke in the dark.
Remember Audrey Hepburn in "Wait Until Dark,"
smashing the lights, making a deadly joke of the dark?
What faith we have in sleep, trusting our bodies will wake
while night fills our vacanciesshadow-strokes in the dark.
"Time hurries by and we're here and we're gone," warns the song.
Someone used to whisper Michelle and hold me in the dark.
The boat loves the water
the way pages are bound to a book
on the table by the window. Salt breeze
turns the pages, fills the jib. Coming about,
the boat leans close to the surface
they almost touch, the real and reflected.
But the boat is turning back to the dock.
In a wake of light, the water hurries after.
There is something I need to tell you.
But the day, half-finished
like a story that keeps unfurling,
foreshadows a different ending.
Why else would I put down the book
and wait for you to come through the door?