In the front seat,
I am talking with Ulli
about all the people we know
who are hurting.
They are people we love,
and there are no right words to say,
so we say the words we can—
I’m sorry. That’s hard. I hope
it will be okay.
We drive past a family of deer
standing on an island
in the center of the Uncompaghre River.
We oooh with the pleasure
of seeing them, their bodies, slight,
moving both separately and together.
Just an hour ago, we were singing
a whole concert of love songs, and though
not all the notes were right,
the spirit with which we sang
was no less true.
It was easy, in those moments
to believe in harmony,
to smile and really mean it.
I urge the car to follow the curves
of the river road.
There is a gate we pass
that is crooked. For years, each time
I have passed it I long to make it straight.
This time is no different.
I ask myself, Can you fall in love
with the world as it is,
this world in which no words
can make things right?
To the west, I spot a hawk
sitting in the empty branches.
I would like to slow down here
to watch it sit. The road curves on.