Under the Walnut Tree
Lynn Martin

When I face what has left my life,
       I bow. I walk outside into the cold,
                 rain nesting in my hair.
       All the houses near me
have their lights on. Somewhere,
                 there is a deep listening.
       I stand in the dark for a long time
       under the walnut tree, unable
                 to tell anyone, not even the night,
       what I know. I feel the darkness
                  rush towards me, and I open my arms.

From Blue Bowl (Blue Begonia Press)