Losing a Friend
Open the rain and go in,
close the gray door, Look
around, the whole world
is falling, and you are, and
all else outside the world falls
In a shift of rain those faces
we once found come along.
They shine. Under the streetlight
they stay, all turned upward
where the gray door opens.
Out there flowers turn puppy faces
away from the wind. Even grass
learns how the world treats a friend.
Across prairies the terrible craving
pulls buffalo grass into far corners.
And at grasstop level over the calm
prairie a baby coyote stares. It is
teatime in Ottawa. On brick walls
a certain light begins to learn its way
up and across and over, touching words:
Day goes by. Gray door. No one. Save.