Before She Died
When I look at the sky now, I look at it for you.
As if with enough attention, I could take it in for you.
With all the leaves gone almost from
the trees, I did not walk briskly through the field.
Late today with my dog Wool, I lay down in the upper field,
he panting and aged, me looking at the blue. Leaning
on him, I wondered how finite these lustered days seem
to you. A stand of hemlock across the lake catches
my eye. It will take a long time to know how it is
for you. Like a dog's lifetime -- long -- multiplied by sevens.
Copyright 2000 by Karen Chase.
from Kazimierz Square, 2000
CavanKerry Press, Fort Lee, N.J.