For J.N.
There is a moon out tonight, and, I hate to admit it,
New fallen snow. The crows lining the telephone
Wires have vanished. It is an abyss, to be sure, but we
Can make something from this material.
I wish to. There is a valley that I’ve walked in all my life –
All is silent there, and I can follow the zodiac,
Calliope, straight between these hills, blue as blue,
Into the ancient heavens that wink. Narcissus, o’ fate,
Echo me while I sing; it’s midnight and the ironwood’s
Heart is tight wound like string. Idyll wind, packager
Of what goes down, blow a bluebird’s feather my
Way, because I need something to point me home.
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