WATCHING

1.

After the fall of so much weather
What have I to say to you,
Full as always of storms and fogs

And the sudden upset of fine days,
So much like everyone else
The winter has locked in its house.

And the long keys of ice
Hang from the steep peaked rooves
Where no one can reach them

And the roof groans under its burdens
And the sleek, slick earth
Is nothing but treachery,

And the horizon seems to rest
Upon the back of men
Who keep moving off

As if they would let it all go

And the sun does nothing
But tint the immortal snow.
And why do you want to see me?

2.

The boat,
Half in and half out of the water,
The woman in it

Who would not come out,
But did not trust the water,
The man on the sand

Staring into the distance,
The tame horizon so close
They could have touched it.

They should have.

The way the sand
Between the man and the boat
Grew to vastness,

The way he shaded his eyes
And she shaded her eyes
As if each were shipwrecked,

Each expecting rescue
But from different quarters.
The water was forbidding,

The land uncertain,
On a pleasant dayþs outing,
Never Looking, each at the other.

3.

In this snowy light, how everything stares!
The square gold eyes of the houses,
The bright cold eyes of the stars,

The woman who never blinks,
Her cat on her lap,
Her hand on the cool head of the statue,

How everything stares
At the hot flushed face
On the patient pillow

Which seems to grow larger
As the night thins out,
And the man cries out in his sleep,

But it is morning
And no one is watching.

4.

There are more pictures
Than there are days of our lives.
This is the audience we play to.

And are you now happy,
Watching me,
Loose from my frame,

Moving about your room
As if it were still possible
For the frame to dissolve

And the action to continue.
Why are we so happy
To float as the fog does

Through so many rooms,
In them all at the same time,
As close as we come to the timeless,

A harmless illusion of permanence,
As, looking at this tracery of trees
Against a winter sky,

A picture on paper,
We are smug in the certainty
Of survival,

Seeing the trees as much future as past,
Those emblematic trees
Which will give up their leaves

And get them again.

And we will see them again and again
In their seasons,
As, in this picture,

We miraculously return to this time,
Over and over.

5.

It was a bad business that day.
The photographer made the best of us,
Photographing us standing,

Each with an arm on the rail,
The other (who was he?)
Sprawled at our feet,

Head propped on one hand,
Angry at us for getting caught,
And catching him, too,

While the photographer,
Hooded like death, patiently waited,
And there we are, all three,

Happy enough,
Looking at him
As if we had no fear.

6.

It is always the snow
That brings us together,
It is always the snow that we undo,

Unraveling this scene to the one beneath,
That day in the forest,
Sitting on the log, teasing the ferns,

Sitting in the parlor,
The vase of flowers between us.
There, it is blooming,

There on the wall.

Love is over
As seasons are over
As mourning is over
As the snows have gone

In the old places
Everyone has left the family picture.
No one sits on the porch.

No one wears dresses like that.
The straw hats have crumbled.
The old houses are down.

These snows obliterate everything.
They never melt.
Whatþs gone is gone forever.

We are transient as these icicles.
Our hands on the white cloth are dry leaves.
My moods still upset you.

We watch each other.
We have nothing to say.
I should have known.

That was unimportant.
It was important for you to hear
The sound of my accidental voice.