A poem by Thomas Thornburg from Ancient Letters

And there to lie down in the lap of the late autumn evening
homey small-kissing on some crazy quilt mother made me
how is it with you when you go and our lives go unbraided
my heart go torn with the old wild grief
how is it you rise and I rise to your feckless heart’s harking
your boots crack black thunder the door claps its quittance and
O you are gone
my kiss and my liquor still wet at your mouth my smell shawled
about you my markings
still spurred at your ribs at your hips as you swing down
my path break my
hill like a cock throw
your comb like a crow swagger off in the
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