Waiting for Snow

Half a window with its night;
an angle;
a tumult;
a beach and its glass
abandoned in moon;

A Scandinavian grind
of college nights
leaned against
library glass.

The decades —
what they wait for,
what they mean —

and what the
window murmurs
with its night,
its open doors moving,
years moving over.

Sing for me a loss —
a half-night;
that street-lit porch;

those belly-full clouds
and that sea
and all that shines upon it.

At the end of the world
come the spires of pines
and the stars between:

Everything opened
in one great moment
I once knew.

I put on my boots
and took them off again.

I moved from
the house
toward the tracks
in the night.

I heard that old voice

Promising, promising,
promising.

And I was afraid.