Awakening at dawn thirty-
six years ago, I see
the lifting of her eyelids
welcome me home. I can
recall her long arms en-
circling me, and I reach
out until the moment slides
into all the forgotten hours.
All the rest of our lives
the tree outside that window
groans in the wind. In other
rooms we’ll hear other houses
mutter and won’t care, and
 go on hearing and not
caring until our names
merge with the wind. One
room, bare, uncurtained,
in a city long ago lost,
goes with us into the wide
measureless light. A tune
goes with us too. Hear
it in the little weirs
collecting winter waters,
in the drops of frozen rain
ticking from the eaves to 
pool in the tiny valleys
of their making. Six weeks,
and the wide world is green