LOSS

1.

There is a howling outside
That does not die down,
That will not be pacified,
That accepts no comfort.

It sees the black skaters
On the grey lake
In the darkening day.

It sees the steeple swallowed
By the swelling clouds,

It howls into the grey woods.
It howls its way up the mountain.

2.

On the mountain top, snow is falling.
It falls on the bald fields,
It covers their stubble,
It packs the houses;
It blinds the windows.

In the valley,
The people see the snow coming.
They pull their shawls closer.

The wind howls in the bare, grey trees.
A bird flies from one branch to another.
From far away, comes the sound of hammering,
The sharp retort of long nails in long new wood.
The people hear it.

Everywhere, barn doors, shed doors,
House doors are closing.
The sky goes dark.

3.

I walk through the transparent tree trunks
Which fill the rooms of this house, which rise
Far above the roof beams of this house.

I pass easily through these great trunks
Which rise so far above me.
I pass like a ghost.
A green light fills these rooms,
And the silence, sepulchral.

The floorboards are wide and polished.
They swell under my feet
As the great roots lift them.

Surely this is a nightmare.
Surely something must last
Even if I will not.

Surely this house will last.
Surely I will not forever
Be lost in this wood.