The sky open in its grayness
A depth summer never understands
I’m the season you give yourself up to sleep
To the hours that make no sense except
Your body follows the sky’s mutations
The moon’s pull, the light receding
We rejoice at June’s long light
But winter makes us who we are.
My words written to the dirge
That Cathy’s death marked on my skin.
The marks I can’t ever erase
Until it no longer matters
Until time added more markings to me:
Ones I’ll never understand that singe hope
Until hope stands.
Hope always stands in winter
Until you say hello.
Why the hell not?
I’ll add my dirge to your wings.
I’ll add my grey to your scarlet-tipped song.
-Nancy Schatz Alton, 1.4.2018