She said that people once
danced with anklets of deer hoof, that out on river terrace even now their steps pool up with moonlight. Behind every tree, she said an unseen column of space. That after sticks are gathered beauty burns with fugitive heat. Then autumn, and he remembers again the formations of geese, their calls first faint, but finally high up the flicker of light off wings. It seemed the breath of her being was like that, a migration he might step into, be lost with above geese, above clouds fallen in with a herd of stars traipsing the dark turf that undergirds galaxies, exhaled into the endless hollows before alighting again alone, moonlit, a deer hoof dancing on river cobbles. |