Footfalls on the other side of the door
Your eyes are moody;
behind them crumbling december rattles,
the sun had left
for a warmer place.
The river you helped name
has slowed to dirt;
its shadows bow deeply
blue to a sun like midnight.
On our backs, barely blue,
we fold ourselves smaller.
words © 2000 Brock Bowman
image © 2000 Jon Reischl