On the Banks of a River Somewhere in Vermont

I am falling again. Kissing her on the banks of a river somewhere in Vermont, tasting the pinprick night that hides in all things. Not this god but another? All night it rains and three times I travel outside to check on the horses, coming in each time comfortless. Remember records skipping. What did she think in those last hours, did she know this time was it? Adrienne Rich on Ethel Rosenberg, reminding me a good man stops what a bad man says must go on. Attention drifts, rose petals drying in bible pages, evidence that somewhere in the past are stories that can save us. I remember crossing the river on slippery rocks, one after the other, "each making possible the next," refusing all hands, and reaching the other side in a light that grew dim but never went out. In the dream a crow brushes my face with its wings wakening the crystaline stillness that is the center of all things. Your Highness, sweetheart, your worship.