Walking with Lulu in the Wood

The wood is a good place to find

the other road down to that hollow

which rocks a little with the same

motion as my soul. Come on, Lulu,

follow me and be careful of the rain

washed leaves. But you were always gentle.

I’ll be quiet too, and we won’t disturb

the raccoons or any of the other animals.

I want to talk with the god here, Lulu.

This is a grove where he must be hiding,

and here is a pool for a small water god

to swim in. Let’s talk with the god, Lulu.

The sun makes a great splash and you

are the one who is hiding in the tall grass

just the way you used to. Lulu,

you are the color of sand in a certain light,

like the shadow of light. The sun

is embracing me; the shadow also

means death. It is the god’s word

in the language he speaks. He says

you are small again, that you have chosen it.

He says your reflection will be in the pool

forever, a blue resemblance, a startled joy.

He says this is your world now, this night

of tall trees, this cave of silences.

He says he loves you too; he watches you sleep.

Is the grove real? Is this your heaven, Lulu,

that you have let me enter? This glade,

the winter ivories?—the season you missed

by dying in the fall. Are these your jewelled

stones, your curled up animals, your grass?

And your god, the secret splash in the water

that you always seemed to be listening for?

Is it the god’s way—the mouth in the wood,

the opening to paradise?

God of animals and children, separations, loss.

Goodbye. Goodbye, sweet girl, again.

The days pass like oranges tossed

from hand to hand. Then one will drop

and it will be my turn. Wait for me here.

I hope to be fortunate, to come back and share

this winter wood with you, the dark hallow,

the snow-dusted face of the god.