(From Christine Garren’s Among the Monarchs)
I have a sense of the horizon, of its humpbacked ridge
that, too, leads to an abyss. The dark hums like a hive of bees.
And the sky tilts its dim theater toward me.
This is how the world is, then, alone. Better. Otherwise,
I’d have to listen to your telling me that it is not dark.
Telling me we are not going to die.
We would have talked again about the house and how to fill it.
Now, it’s just the stars, barely visible, that blink and blink.
* * *
If I could explain why this poem hit me so hard right now, it wouldn’t have left me without breath.