By the time it was dark
my bones ached
from pulling away from the loneliness
of the missing voices
You would not imagine I would feel so acutely
Richard whose old time eccentricities stood in front of the kindest heart
Jean who wrote back on Facebook but was my actual cousin
Nance who texted me more days than not
My family who had died off since Spring
One of my daughters who cut me away is not unreachable
I could call her
but to what end she would only tell me how hideous I am
who would walk into that smoke filled wilderness
Still I ache for her there
The other, one never knows what broken glass litters the ground between us
I would pick it all up but she keeps it there like curls of razor wire where she could choose rosemary and sage to line her path
This morning the Thanksgiving table still set with French linens
protea and eucalyptus in the vase from Amsterdam
candles wrapped in birch bark or tall in copper stands like stems of winter
Outside there are horizontal icicles on the fountain
I cut a slice of pastry ate it with salted nuts
There is a necklace I began and will finish perhaps today
Not sure who it is for
But it is for someone
There is still love in my world
deep snow on distant peaks
rivers run with fallen leaves
it is all there
just as brown leaves cling still to the oak tree
undetached despite every sighing wind
