The church with a white, luminous steeple
Did not seem any more comfortable
Pointing to the summer’s unraveling
And, later, I felt the need to look behind me
Back into the city and down the gray alley
Where I had watched the tide lift it
Like a woman lifts a pearl, or a thief.
But I stood, still, facing a forest of white pine
I knew the names: light and time.
Grave beauty, most beautiful in your harridan
Departure, I laugh at the idea of a magic quest
Or sacks of treasure I might have unearthed
Had I looked or taken the burden of your spells—
I even laugh at the words to name them.
But your memory remains nestled in me as a peace
Almost to the point of dishes nestled in their cabinet.