Afterwards

Halfway in the falling light

dreams in the vista linger

while one that is done, that once had

a beginning, only now is found

down the shadow turned to the north,

a black oak branch knotting

its own held memory made

from a missing person story, felt

in full to its impossible solution--

boundless countryside, natural

thinning of all the happening,

remnants reposed next to loss,

while the only unweighted shape

within this hushed horizon, a feathered

voice calling solo over grounded

conclusions of clodful sights

fully toned with refuge, a void,

that of a burial under this

distance passing a name.