Nocturne
That night we sat in Adirondack chairs and saw the lake turn black.
We couldn’t see our hands.
It felt as if we’d both gone blind
or gone our separate ways—
nirvana, breathing out,
a whirlpool whirling down—
almost a welcoming—
until the fireflies emerged
with microscopic power surges
and microscopic failures
looking for things to eat
extracting us, as children do,
from games we play
with darkness and with death.
A Premonition
The weather changes
and the heart keeps time
as best it can
and when we wake
the things we dreamt about
trot off ahead of us
like wolves on frozen tracks.