ISSUE: Fall 2014
He walks back from the
window in half-shadow
a half-shade himself
who first called them shades
who people the place
bereft of long life
he comes back he feels
with the fingers of one
hand the soft hem bed’s
high edge to settle
back my father now
his bed his home or
we are walking now
he is walking carrying
me under starlight
under willows swept
with high wind crickets
two whip-poor-wills far
like two bells one bell
across the night hills
these long hills I am
so tired he thinks
I am sleeping who
peoples the night river
riffle of water here
over the newest stones
in the river all night
to the other side
okay he says at
last or I say okay go
to sleep old man and
when you waken on
the other side I’ll
be there we’re there now
see our shadows where
they have been waiting
as long as we’ve been here—
