They Came

They came from the hills
in droves like orange-water sunset,
but they were quiet.
They brought their moon stills
and set up under a nearby horizon,
slipped us their wine
and stayed in the shadows.
When they drew us
solitary
to the lakeside,
we swam in sleep;
were beguiled into watching the stars twirl
and slide through time.
They laughed like crystal in a well,
and we heard ice cracking,
breaking from a north ocean swell –
or like mice in the trees
with clickety paws
we did not investigate
the cause
of our melancholia.

They teased us
into closing our eyes,
and pushed us back through our footsteps.
We fled not with our hands,
and were calm as clouds
when they stole us from ourselves.
Where the wind was thrown
we followed;
where they blew kisses
the air was sweeter than sap.

When called from our homes
the wool we wore
was warmer
than lovers’ clothing,
the robes were silk
from the mother-spider’s heart.
When they spilled us
from their buckets in the frigid night,
they scrambled us up
and slipped our icy hearts
deep into their fine-fit mittens.
Inside there the wind blew elsewhere
and we slept in warmth;
there was never the question
of going.

Their causes were fleeting
as we watched them
with half-opened smiles,
as our dreams were left
for dreaminess
for the impression of flowers
on a grey rock
we did not take stock
in the ebb and flow
of their destinations.
Once
there was the thought
of blue sky felt
firm in our bones –
Looking out at the sea
we wept
without speaking.
Night came
and we slept
without dreams.
They told us
never to stare at the sunset,
so we danced as distraction
from our childish fears;
sliding through patterns
of their twilight mercy
and smiling
when called
to their bedside.

We sang like the peal
of sunlight on silver,
hearing wind in the hedgerow
or fireshine
strobing into the backwoods—
never thinking to sorrow
when warm arms
took the place
of our voices,
so lulled into calmness
by fed want
and other soft forces.