My memory
plus my travels add up
to you, with your lovely
laugh, and your stewardship of
the field from the highway to the creek—
even the crows know you’re here.
The bare agates of the stream-bed are
as smooth as eyes
in a land
I cannot know. I am a microdot,
the letter between A and B, the number
between zero and emptiness.
The snake is a word unwriting itself.
The killdeer flies by nearly falling.
But I am absent. What did I just say?
Silence multiplied by silence equals
absolute peace over
and over, a treasury of white noise.
Your clothing keeps the memory
of your limbs. The glove keeps the shape
of your grip. What was I keeping
when you reached your hand
to my not-yet? This is where I end.
It’s true, you dreaded the legend,
alive without living. Did I ask
a question? The drought has
no feelings, but the green
grass around the sprinkler head thrives.
I am this fresh quiet,
this door latch, this welcome mat,
the sowbug like a fossil ending everything.
And beginning. I’m home.
