Smell of chimney wood and the thick scent
of myrtle and hydrangea blooms in the cool
October and the milkweeds
dripping their lovely way home.

Time for the heart and its beating
again. Time for the blood pumping
and the old mind of thought
and thoughtlessness.

Time for wakefulness,
though it bleeds unmercifully and unbearably
your life.

Come now. Past the lover sleeping
with her betrayals night after night,
scattering you into those thousand pieces.
In the end she will darken

in her own shame.
Go on. Breathe again.
Live prosperous and well.
Forgive the old voices:

Your mother leaving this world,
her fingers tugging your ankles
from the precipice, “Save me!”
The eyes dark. The terror

terrible, and nothing
to be done. Forgive the sweet moon
of yourself sleeping in the loose pocket
of the dark —

so many nights.

Forgive your feet wandering lost
as the world went on well enough
without you.
Go to the gate.

The rain has returned. And the geese
exploding wild over the river.
Everywhere the world
has been praying its soft prayer.

Playing its rare and wild music.
Longing for you to arrive
alive again. Desiring for you to love
the one sleeping

in your own bed. Wishing for you