Summer 2000 • Vol. XXII No. 3/4 PoetryJuly 1, 2000 |

Driving North in Winter

All the way to Mercer these rooms left out in the dark— lamplight and two chairs the old couple sit reading in, a table where a family comes together for dinner— the rest of the houses, one with the night. How blessed they are, the man hanging his ordinary coat in the small world of a kitchen, the woman turning to her cupboard, both of them held from the cold and the vastness by nothing but trusting inattention and one beam of light, like us passing by in the darkness, you napping, me wide awake, grateful for this moment we've also been given, apart in our way of being together, living in the light.

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