Skip to content →

Late Aubade

Early October,

Snow over the meadow

The campsite we’d made

At the end of summer

Was somewhere there

Though I never promised,

Did not say I’d return

One way or another

To the Snowy Range,

To the furthest lake: still, black

As a mirror back,

And the entrances closed.

I never said anything

As someone standing in a corridor

Says nothing in a corridor

Or I shifted: near, close

from Clean

Copyright © Persea Books 2011
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Kate Northrop Poems

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.