written the day after she died in a fire
Down there on the snowburied interval
crossed with snowmobile tracks like
white beams on a white sky there's a
ploughed track a couple of feet deep
hidden by a double row of fresh coated
snowdunes It goes out to the river
to a clump of trees where the farmer's
been cutting stovewood to haul out
Lookng for it now across the unlit
morning is like looking for snowburied
thoughts followed a ways yesterday then
lost in a night crisscrossed with dreams
And we did walk it marking its inner
covering of new snow with our boots
and buried almost in its cut below the dunes
surprised to find it there a more fundamental
and well founded track then those frivolous
and arbitrary trails cutting into and out
of each other at every winddriven whim
Our deep way to the frozen rvier put
our feet on ground below ground
ground half the year flooded and half
buried in snow yet we could feel
last year's stubble last year's wild
grass last year's new green
break under our deepened tread