Swallow, and: Last Winter

Swallow

The world is hereto tell us everything.

It's taught ushow to miss

and still make senseof a scene.

We are leftto make up

half of winteras we wish.

Another year,another

spring.Something else,

this blue.Thus,

the leaves.They are kind

of a winter too,though mean

to take awayhalf of all I knew.

Last Winter

The night the moose surrounded the cabin, coming on as part of the night, which beganjust as the other night was ending, so that they, as nights, could almost hold hands, I woke

to no sound, but sensing them, like one does snow or the lights, and I came down from the loftto be at the windows, and saw there a world all the blood had been drained from—that blue

shy of black, shy of night, the three dark shapes bedded down, spread out, and the dogssilent, chained—not understanding but understanding not to fight.