kept close between my ever-folded
and it keeps beating,
keeps keeping me here,
Bless its tireless devotion to this life I've made
from scraps and blood, sugar and hope.
I don't think I'll see the summer again,
but I remember her as she was when I was young--
long, careless, cicada-buzzed and deep.
What have I done, with all the cloud-changed hours?
Have I loved you?
Have I told you?
Yes, constantly and every chance I got.
I want to finish this book, and then one more.
I want to enjoy a few more meals.
I want to see these mighty snows made meek and melted.
I will miss my dog, but he will rejoin me in time.
The falcon inside me is worrying the ties
that keep the lock in place.
I can feel her working, and the sky, waiting.
It will be all right.
If I am a little bit melancholy, it is because I am surprised,
to feel the catch loosening
and I wonder what it will be like, when the door swings out,
and I leave this place for home.