Evening

I stood on the hill in the cemetery and I thought I was seeing two dried leaves shaking in the trees, but then I saw them separate and glide away. One shape was black, the other was bright pink. It was two people far out in the distance skating on Harris Pond. As I headed home it was getting dark. I could see lamp-lit living rooms and glowing TV screens, and I saw a man walking three beagles in Blackstone.

In the morning I dreamt I was in my childhood home. The two sunroom windows that were never open in real life were open. It was summer, and books on classical music kept arriving in the mail. They were for a friend who was doing research for a poem.