George Lober

Sonora

For reasons which
are not yet clear,
I want you to know
this morning how
before dawn, orange
thermos in hand,
I walked back down
the lumber road
a quarter mile
to the clearing
where, among
the piles of dirt
and sawdust chips,
spittle of the chain-
saw, we sat last
August, smooth
as one shadow on
a jagged stump,
breathing the wet
wind-tang of pine,
shivering against
the dusk and rain,
the silence dropping
brittle and uneven
through the shadows
around us.  And how,
once there, alone,
the dry smell
of fresh cut wood,
breath of coffee
lifting from the cup
in my hand, the early
sun scattering your
name like light
across the canyon,
it became enough
for one moment
to hear the cicadas
whine, to gauge
the distance to
the slow creek below,
to admit finally
that you are gone.
Tomorrow, I know,
may not be this easy.

Sage, 1984

George Lober

Books by George Lober