After K’s After

under the broken spring your frame shimmers in

the light of several houses becoming silver

branches becoming something already begun

you’re drifting again— try to

set your eyes straight on the

object across the stream or

each object it touches,

glowing— what a shivering

glance you placed where I

stood

in the swollen spring the sun and sky pull our dead limbs

from the snow a last path the wind clears through trees a last

photograph of his shadow stretched across a white plain