Backlight
Drinking in an evening
while sipping down a year as a day's ending.
With sun setting, keep repeating
old retreats.
The streets freezing and specters easing
from exhaust pipes
speak of an emptying, of fatigue, of a face framed
in memories
of arguments, apologies, in-jokes and glass nights'
frost-embossed panes--
of walks down roads well salted
of adding salt to stir-fry curries to season
Which?
--Not Spring, just yet.
Who cares?
--Well, me!
I'm drinking in an evening
Sipping. Gazing out southwestward.
I trace with soft eyes a solid skyline.
See the Bighorns' darkened profile,
backlit with bright fading
hinting, half-telling
stories
promises
half making
that they'll still be there, tomorrow.
I met those mountains long ago--
I've known them my whole life,
you've only seen them.
I met them long before you,
but they remind me of you
and that's not fair.