kept to the house,
painting canvases of balled-up babies,
mercurial bric-a-bracs, and the miniature
of her birthday brooch beside a glass pitcher of roses.
The softer grays she saved for Arthur
her long-departed cat.
Then there was the night with a full moon
and rain all at once. Glossy pines,
the lit drops falling.
She edged to her side of their bed,
and lay there a long time watching,
the window to herself.
A soldered luminescence,
light turned down to skullglow in the mist.