Would you pack up and move to a winter house with me?
It would be a bleak spot on the map
that we would plant and bury
There would be a broken fire
and for months nothing but
smoke would
mark our presence.
There would be so much to do.
It's always that way
when you start
There would be work in the back forty
and probably in the front, too
Fences, sheds, bridges, towers,
any architecture
we imagine
we would build
It would just be us
but that would be OK
since help is rarely what it seems.
I would not stop you from going outside alone.
I would stand at the window
with my gun
vigilant
You would never get lost like before
At dusk you would return
I would take off your boots
count your blue toes
and make you home.
This would be a temporary fugue.
One day the lights
never noticed dark
would turn on
The doors would open
The air would rush in
All the friends we forgot we had
would walk up the path
and call our lost names.