Nox Borealis

If Socrates drank his portion of hemlock willingly,

if the Appalachians have endured unending ages of erosion,

if the wind can learn to read our minds

and moonlight moonlight as a master pickpocket,

surely we can contend with contentment as our commission.

Deer in a stubble field, small birds dreaming

unimaginable dreams in hollow trees,

even the icicles, darling, even the icicles shame us

with their stoicism, their radiant resolve.

Listen to me now: think of something you love

but not too dearly, so the night will steal from us

only what we can afford to lose.