I want to say there was vast injury to more
than me, that all altered; your house gutted
by wind, the doors blown from the hinge. I
want to say that birds began flying, stunned,
into each other, that even the dirt turned
to troubling itself over you. But, in all truth
very little has changed: the phlox has taken
over the cobbled walk, the clouds are directed
by the weather-vane. The old cow leads herself
to the mud now, sloping her head in the small
hope of heeding you again, of feeling the load
of your hand on her. What we had believed
could not live long without us, stirs up flies,
staggers stubbornly through. Here’s to you.
~ from The Best Canadian Poetry 2008 (Tightrope Books, 2008)
