I step outside into winter to take the trash
up the drive to the road, and, staring at the moon
through the empty black tangle of cottonwood branches
I step into another night when under that same moon,
you and I were walking up the steep and snowy slopes
toward tree line, a fresh loaf of bread in my backpack,
ski poles in our hands for balance, and no sense
of any story that did not end with happily ever.
After the love we thought we wanted, we found
the love we have. Now, in the time it takes
to walk to the top of the drive, sometimes
a whole lifetime goes by. Listen, there’s the sound
of the river, though it is locked by ice.
And oh, it’s so beautiful, that moon,
the same light
we used to walk home by.