Valse Triste


We dance.

I speak, you listen– you speak,

I reply– now we are up on the roof

of the house, waving our arms

at the stars– we can count on them

and the solid timbers.


I ran

and I returned.

You drove away,

came back.

We look out at the peach sky,

at the tall grass where foxes

come close,  go away,


Safe distance, come in

slink away, to a rise

yipping at the stars

calling out to coyote brethren.


So late. 60’s– we

age and burn

and turn, laugh, cry

sip coffee

out in the dark a star falls,

a cinder

earth smolders on we

speak and savor


And out of words,

no yarns left to spin



same place, new time


To the dirt road

over the bridge, back,

to safety, home

not home

held fast

by the random comforts

of the night.