the water: submarine flood-
light. It wasn't alone; the other one
hung above it. I sat in the room
the woods made. All was brown
and down at last, and the silent
air delineated my breath. Shadows
sprawled behind me. When I stood
to leave, mine was the only one
moving. Then the other shadows
fused. Now they're all one:
the earth's. Leaves hurt my ears.
Is this air or dark glass?
The fullness of the moon surprises
me: fragmented by black hawthorn
and maple branches. When I step
from the trees, it follows, whole
again. No matter where I go
it's over my shoulder:
it's the face of the one I can't forget.