A Stand of Aspen

When nightfall extinguishes the last
light, when lovers can no longer
see the stand of aspen in December
that so confirms their love with
its nakedness that betrays no infirmity,
I begin to believe that I have had
too much love slashing and burning
and running. I want to light afire
the night and the aspen and the stars
with sparks as hot as the sun, and
see it all whiten with heat as the stand
collapses, smoldering on the frozen
ground. But this time I will stay
with you, to wait out the clearing
smoke, to claim that it was no
accident that had happened here, and
to watch for the seedlings to appear
from the bracken. With you, I will
bring them water. With you, I will
bring them some light.

*next*