So We Go

Let's let the bay be the bay tonight,
whatever it is, say, mirror
seen between trees—
artily pink, glass, tinted.

There's this snow clumped—
fake as frosting on nylon boughs—
humped underfoot, frozen
on grass. What's left of undergrowth,

slick, the step less sure
for it. The light at dusk
a lure, a musk in our noses
so we go into it—the woods

still as the doe unseen
nearby; the dogs
quiver with her, but lack
the skill to track her.

We hush along the hidden path,
foot-blind, the water a halo
below this way, whatever it is
there and sure as tomorrow.

Copyright © 2004 Crystal Bacon All rights reserved
from Elegy with a Glass of Whiskey
BOA Editions
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission