We climb the world to end
at a northernmost point. Moonrise: 2pm. A child in my arms
as I follow you through a thicket. Evergreen trees reach sky
-ward. I thought we were alone until we lived
in a place without streetlights. The sun, phantom of its own
ego. Snow, thick enough it appears
to rise from branch & riverbed. A solitary house here
& there. Red woodshed. Covered pool. The child that has made me
solace, turned from weapon to shelter. Unwieldy
against this long night. Don’t let the city break
your heart, I was told when we got here. I didn’t know yet
what it meant to break, snow against fencepost & field.
How to enter my own waking so that I might feel alive. I often want
to lay down in the snow now. To be a little numb, at first,
as I’ve been since I gave birth & my bones became trestles
yielding other worlds. Here, I am without
desire. This night where I wander the woods, a child
strapped to my chest, I am no longer
ahead. Nor behind. Nor alive
with wonder, & morning.