So Careful By the Window

by Michael Tritto

Sheep and horses in a rolling mist,

the power of oak trees, their remembrance,

“The hand of God is green.”

Lifts of light, its thousands of stories,

each blade of grass making room for sun,

their palms raise toward the sky.

We’re used to laughing, you know.

Old Henry and his quizzical face,

not knowing when he’s not alone,

asking a poor sheep for directions,

“Look, I seen you there many’s a time

you and your curly hair, sipping a pint, ya know”.

Sheep lie on the turf some forty feet

from any other, rainbow marked for sorting out,

and horses draw shadows across the field.

So careful by the window.

No one must know how he waits.

“Such a weak man!” they’d say.

But she said she’d come,

and this sun slant long afternoon

lies empty across the bed.

A corner of a stone house is all there is,

near the broken roof church, its graves

slanting any which way, its horsehead

gargoyle graces a young tree.

She kneels as if there were candles.

She tries not to shake too much.

“Can I put the question a different way?

Is there a once-in-a-while when it’s over?

Would it matter such a quick look,

sky and water, moon and the bridge?”


Author bio:
I was born in Buffalo, N.Y. in 1939.  I taught Spanish in the Buffalo Public Schools for 37 years, retiring in 2001. I have been writing poetry since the early “70 and my work has been carried in journals throughout the US and in England, Ireland and Australia. My wife and I live in an apartment in Buffalo and I do my work there and in the library of a local college.

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