The Moment When Your Name is Pronounced

This high up, the face eroding; the red cedar slopes over. An accident chooses a stranger. Each rain unplugs roots which thin out like a hand. Above the river, heat lightning flicks silently and the sound holds, coiled in air. Some nights you are here dangling a Valpolicella bottle, staring down at the flat water that slides by with its mouth full of starlight. It is always quiet when we finish the wine. While you were a living man how many pictures were done of you. Serious as an angel, lacing up your boots. Ice blows into my fields.