At first, it was summer.
Black horses in a pasture
Heads down, going slowly
Blue fescue, gold bitterweed.
We walk arm in arm at the party.
People play croquets, drink Johnny Red
From cut crystal old-fashioned glasses.
Billowing clouds overshadow the scene.
Couples wander off. Silence descends.
Then it was winter,
Snowing, too. Or had.
Us together slogging over the place
For no good reason. Chattering.
Pale cheek with its high rose kiss.
Winter suited you, your hair
Sable threaded with silver
That you were too young for.
Waking like fire, still seeing
Your hazel eyes sparkling with time
And it took a full minute then
To remember that you were dead.
I dreamed I had a gun
That when I shot it, fixed everything.
And I couldn’t feature
How such a thing could be.
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