As Told By

After I tore
my life down
and ended up with
nothing but a

smooth river
without wind and with
brown and gold reflections
of a bare and dry and
sad November

I moved
into a raftered loft
in an old hat factory
on that same river
sliding by my floor-to-ceiling windows all day

and one day
in a different November
I sat up
in my bed and
you were in my bed and
I was not the prettiest or best
woman you ever knew

but the one you wanted
and we wrapped
ourselves in sheets
and opened the french doors
and let the flurries in
so cold
so fresh
without prologue
without epilogue

only that morning.