Last night I heard the wind through the trees keening,
rehearsing the long litany of loss, whether through accident,
a plane spiraling down from the sky, illness, betrayal—
your spouse or a friend, maybe both.

I could see, through the network of trees, some stars.
I know how the planets wheel in orbit. Then
even the stars seemed to be wheeling, a blur in my eyes
as they passed. The daughter you never hear from,
or the one who inherits your father’s wildness. The way
these twist in the wind of your wanting.

Make yourself into a rock,
almost unfeeling.
Hard to break.