(for Mary Wilson)
Out in the snow
I hear Mary singing,
keeping everything together as always –
multiplying by three,
then dividing
while misty men threw ice balls from on high –
so white, so dark
So long ago, too,
juggling in the far north,
those cold, cold winters
like Fargo around the stage
in and out of fantasy
pursued by a bear
Where did our love go?
Out in the snow, Mary,
your beautiful, tidal songs
your mouth like a river
your smile like a secret story…
You drag me back down that slippery slope
to somewhere I might have been
You were there all right, but was it me?
Was it really love?
I see the tracks
between the graves
and a light in the sky