there were nights when love
lit up her lanterns,
nights when we sat on either side
of a window
and whispered love stories
in the dark

not all of the stars were falling,
and in the rosewood cabinet
there were photographs
of my loved ones laughing at me
when i tried on
a discarded halo

would it please them to know
that they live on
in poetry

when people ask me
sometimes i lie
and say that i am a widow
then the stars shrink
like the faces of old men
and imaginary snakes
wind around my ankles

as i climb the hills
with my hiking stick
of red cedar, labelled by nature
and circled by time