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Tonight the wind blows cold from the east. It comes shaken off the moon like glass, Shattering when it hits the tops of the trees, Tossing splinters everywhere across the yard. Inside the woodstove house you try to snore Your way out of this nightmare, disturbing Those of us who never sleep, inflicted by Another sickness deeper than your dreams. But I am home now, here where my heart Reaches through my limbs into this cold Crusted earth, taking hold of all that once Was ours together. I cannot be moved, nor severed from this spot; Not even the knife you raise in anger is sharp Enough, nor large enough to cut through Thirty years of time, nor quick enough to slice The pain, dismember all we were and still are. Clouds cover the moon and stars, leaves scrape The frozen ground, and I am talking to you. Can you hear the cold wind blowing my name. Reach for me through your dark dream; I am the sound of glass breaking. |
 
 
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