(i)
I woke to early sun:
burning of fire, & then afterward.
We kept reaching
through the long night.
(ii)
Afterward,
the small deceptions
we allow ourselves:
a sickness, unchecked.
Like this:
(iii)
& first sunlight.
Snow continues.
I could never close my eyes to light.
But there was no light
& you looked like night.
(iv)
There must be a pattern,
snow slow-dropping in wet clusters
through the wooden arms
of empty trees.
(v)
Sun fingering its way
through branches
I’d hung my life on.
We don’t matter a bit; realization
forces our eyes closed—
(vi)
A sickness, unchecked, like this.
I’d hung my life on
burning of fire, & then afterward.
(vii)
Our arms together
we searched for patterns
& sunlight.
(viii)
Our arms laced together,
pointing together
over wind-tossed grasses.
Us: waist deep in night blue.
(ix)
There was no light.
You pointed.
(x)
Sun overhead,
you pointed
to the wind-tossed grasses.
This is a memory now.
(xi)
Together in that first sun,
so vivid:
there must be a pattern
I’d hung my life on.
(xii)
Snow dropped in clusters,
staggered & jagged.
We don’t matter a bit.
(xiii)
Reflected in lake water:
all these things I’ll forget.
(xiv)
Our arms together
but we keep reaching
over the wind-tossed grasses.
(xv)
Black smoke curling:
the importance
of night-blue field grass,
(xvi)
the importance of.
The stars are close; we try to hold together.
(xvii)
All this ends
but until then:
burning of fire, & then afterward.
The stars are close; we try to hold.
Such distance between the fallen!
(xviii)
Burning of fire, & then afterward.
You pointed.
(xix)
Grasses silently fold,
a sickness, unchecked, reaching. Like this.
Wooden arms of trees
long since emptied.
(xx)
This ends in darkness,
& all the stars within reach,
& other constellations.
Nate Pritts, "& then afterward" from The Wonderfull Yeare (a shepherd’s calendar). Copyright © 2009 by Nate Pritts.
12 years ago