Where the rivers run north
November light
Comes moose brown through the white
Hoarfrost.
Spruce trees
Naked. Sleepy.
Strangers at the windowpane.
The remains of autumn rains
In afternoon.
Dust.
Floating worlds.
A pale will.
Drifts
In shifting
Shades of forgetfulness.
Where the rivers run north
The berries come hard and black on the vine
Before the grey winds before
The last grey goose
Goes south
Hording summer under its wings.
Leaving us
Old glaciers and no footprints
In a wide wild country.
Where the rivers run north.
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