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Show ON THE FIRST ANNIVERSARY OF YOUR DEPARTURE Somewhere along the back hills, the giant cranes are calling again, low-flying along the black ravines and lifting over the headlands where the red-tipped aspen leaves are dipping soundlessly, by the thousands, into the ascending shade- and beyond the hills, stretching for miles, the gradual tides of grass withdraw from the stony fields. At work, yesterday evening, I remembered, and for the first time it occurred to me, the weather's changing, as it did then, so unexpectedly, like a curtain yanked from a window, and from now on, from the soft hills, the cold will be rising like a fine powder into the broken branches, the thin air, and the clouds, dark-edged and threatening along the horizon... And then it was dark. The lamp was on, the window black, and my face was filling up the glass, as strange to me as yours had seemed that morning as you lay on the bed, not sleeping, and said my name, and waited. You did the right thing after all, and so last night, staring at the window, I thought of you then, once, and took a long time, but the face was still too far away, as if flawed by a slow-falling snow. |
