the world just now, emerging :: leah silvieus

after the storm and the stillness that came before,
              we make our way down to the river,

past the autumn burn pile and the first stirrings
              of the birds in the apple tree—

he untangles himself from his winter woolens
              and lopes ahead, having known too much

of paradise to resist cold’s threat,
              his back a fevered kite

tearing down the pale field:
              for each of his steps

two of my own, heavy
              through the crisp lip of snow

as if a haul from some deep well,
              and I wonder if it will always be this way,

he forging ahead as I lose sight in the gray tangle
              of creeper and paper birch—

calling his name as if he were miles
              away and not a few paces,

reckless in my panic
              as I thrash through the brush,

afraid he will not wait,
              afraid I will leave him, waiting