Ninety minutes since dark, I do not expect the surrounding ice
to quit its hold nor do I expect you wearied at my door:
shoulders narrow ’neath your dark green cloak.
You wouldn’t be dashed by stones at my door
who take unkindly strangers; flinging them knee to split knee.
Dashed all strangers take me less than notable, even addled
as if they could win a contest to prove their contention.
I have wandered, am neither here nor there;
you are where I left: sous terre,
roiling voices beneath your brow
and beaux who wrote with forced arm; not strong.
This is to say meet me where I met you first.
Where you stirred as I lowered myself over cliff’s edge.
A burgundy train I wore; you held me up by this.
Your great strength, a thing beside, a saviorial beast, loving.
I am the kind who need only be reminded of kindness
and with my All will pursue that quality in the new life.
The remembering one.You seemed to see this.
You lost your horse carelessly that day.
Copyright © 2009 Ish Klein
Used with the permission of Canarium Books.