LINDA GREGG
Her husband has left and no man moves her.
A breeze might turn her face so the hair
would hang long behind her shoulders,
but no man does. She stands because her body
wants to stand. She sits for the same reason.
She sleeps on her side in the night. Years
of dark, with stars sometimes, sometimes with
summer fire in the grass. She is not waiting.
She keeps from knowing the grief of separation.
She thinks the love will not kill her. His love
is powerful in her, the way metal loves heat.