He remembers the soft arc of her
back the day she left, how darkness
shifted across her eyes, the moon shuddering
into view. Remembers saying, for you I will
shift the horizon, stop the tide, hold time back.
But she was returning to the tight music of winter.
He still carries her body inside him and the chill
that set in that night. The bedroom mirror holds
her face, the brush her final blonde hairs
and the second hand on the antique clock
her mother gave them refuses to move on.