As the hazy dusk of twilight falls
into cathedral corners
of wing and bone,
all that you rend from me
is a pittance,
a paid genealogy.
The winter asks much more than dues
with its inching fingers
and sharp bites.
The call of the geese from the field,
the path to family
all these exact a more punishing price
than the memory of you
And I do not know how to worship
more than in this moment.