Fields grow numb with winter.
Through pines, the throaty pink
hour of evening staggers,
like a sleepy child heavy on her feet.
Need I remind you?
All that’s still once fell.
In the garden, a maple unwrites
scarlet letters to dusk.
and fall to the hard ground.
Birds fly in a V to somewhere warmer.
Here’s the bedroom: empty chest of drawers, raw mattress, flowers wilt on the windowsill.
you came and went,
benumbing the earth,
ungardening all I planted.
*Originally published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry in 2016.