I. now a shy greyhound sleeping in the crook of my surprised arm gentle we are, cradling the edge of daylight savings time we are in that hour now that everyone "gains" -- earlier, before time poised to throw itself at winter (trusting winter to be there when it landed) I drove staring the moon half full, all golden, watching me round every curve, every cloud -- raccoons everywhere staring through bushes -- eyes glowing like quarters on sidewalks sudden flashes of reflection at me and me throwing myself on the brake, startled behind headlights. I tried to count them, looking for you. behind their masks their eyes shining, revealing them and I kept expecting your shining eyes to reveal you to me in my light too much dark you, light me. II. I wonder what you remember as the clouds settle themselves like hens around your winter tent (too many words create mist in the valleys) a half moon through clouds walking the hills the whole sky collecting the light of the moon and one farmhouse, the trains (have the trains always been there in love?) always with you they were contained freedom, hollow prairie loneliness. we put our arms around (last spring) one another, listening to the train -- looking skyward, Orion dipping slowly; our train, every night, appeared in a grove of trees, its light only in the orchard blazing its hello and farewell all in one sweeping rush: gone again. pulling its light away from our faces, though upturned, no longer reflect its headlight, the moon reclaiming its role. III. now, not wanting to move, to betray the trust of the trembling greyhound delicate chin on my wrist I realize looking for you I was wrong waiting for that raccoon flash, realize you were always the train. I never saw that your light came once, grew brighter as we grew closer and suddenly you pulled your light back and flew past me off into the misty night again. only now, hesitating on the ledge, fearing that daylight savings is moonlight's loss; knowing the clouds come from too much warm, only now can I see this truth: I've been standing in this grove a long time; watched your light turn away from me, leave, my moonlight steady watching your lost prairie train flight and I have loved your echoes too long.
31 October 99