Alan: Alone, alone, alone... lonely.
I expected you home
before now. All that long way
from Halifax, the roads icy maybe,
and empty at night.
When does concern become worry?
Worry take action?
I’ve enjoyed my time here,
alone with one dog and two cats,
reading Ryōkan, gentle sounds of the woodstove
like his breathing of pines under Mt. Kugami
or drip of dewy eaves in the bamboo grove,
so long ago.
Now the dinner I made for the two of us,
uneaten, grows cold.
Nancy: A year of gifts, a life of gifts acknowledged.
The tide in the high marsh,
the low sun, slow to stand over the ridge,
the sea smoke . . .
I went out wanting the year to turn,
and turned myself instead, turned back
to today, glad to have received
water, light, frost blooming on dry stems.