So the car rests side-saddle on the trail while she walks the dog
and she didn’t tell anybody where she was going. No, no dog,

just her with her iPod and no purse or backpack not even a power
bar in the pocket of her running pants. Or maybe the holidays

came and instead of flying east as usual she didn’t but we all just
assumed. The creek bubbles thickly over the rocks down the slope,

just barely liquid. Footprints ink the snow but they’re blown out.
No car, no dog, and the porch lights blaze all night and all day

in an un-notable way. No more piles of envelopes carried to the post
office, no more sloppy shoveling jobs, no more shades up then

down, no gray garbage bin on the curb Sunday nights. She kept
a quiet house in the first place. Messages to the larger world

do not return the favor, she should know. And fate has a tall swing
like the one out back, where once her feet hit the blue curtain of the sky.