Your forest, meadow,
you loved the world till the end,
and you were loved more.

For a year a stray,
then loved and always at home,
me, here, just behind.

Under many skies,
we knew that we were lucky —
our eyes on the world.

We stepped through them soft,
every thicket and forest,
mysteries each time.

Eyes always open,
sensing the hidden things, nose
up and catching scents.

Ears scented with earth,
you came out of the tall grass,
lived your life with us.

Towards our deep forest,
sixteen degrees and we ran,
owls hooted, sun shone.

The world without you,
you’re on that path alone now,
everything is strange.

For Mack

Your big closed-eye smile,
sun warming the cold meadow —
I’ll look for you here.

For Mack

You take the lead now,
decide on the right forest,
blue sky, long shadows
(and wait for us there).

For Mack

In the dark tangle,
we’re in the same mystery,
the robin and me.

Here with Jane Kenyon,
James Wright, Theodore Roethke,
in the otherworld.

Chambered like a heart,
steadfast as a pair of lungs,
milkweed husks beat, breathe.

The last hours of light,
twittering at the green pond
from all directions.

Every gold leaf
of the ginkgo has let go,
buried soon, till spring.

First snow, the ginkgo
dropped every leaf overnight
to see its beauty.

We take our worries
on a walk around the lake,
wind shakes leafless trees.

The cloud floats above,
the cloud lands in the cold lake,
the cloud floats below.

Blooming in the rain,
uncrushable lace — alive,
forest voices, low.

for Mavis Staples

The active second —
that cloud moves while we watch it,
bringing changing light.

for Donald Hall