After-Music

Silence

1 s i L e n C e Let moon be a metaphor for what we leave unsaid. all winter, we’ve been clouded in, a rim of ice sealing the house at the eaves. But now in april the sky lights up behind the trees. “Bright out tonight,” we say, sheets gleaming on the line, the white gravel curving away. a V of geese honks north, still traveling, thinking it’s daylight. Looking to the east, we see 1 the moon, appalling, beautiful, a mouth about to speak. This page intentionally left blank ...