The House in the Woods

for Martha

The sky opens to this hour of morning
in Maryville, deep in a summer speckled
with southern names. Here we stop and bask
like these flowers defying man’s extremes.
The mountain breathing out, then in, blesses

our effort to add dawn to this new chapter,
at this university whose registrar gathers data
by perceiving lines at the corners of eyes,
seeing past heavy baggage into the heart in
the short time there is, registering more

than the names our small group has to offer,
faces eager, questions caught in our throats.
It is suddenly as if, falling, the leaf is from
some pages of a book that age put there to mark
the validity that this place with its message

teaches. And now she’s seated on a bench
in a clearing feeding birds. Life crawls
up her arm. She remains silent—will break
no oath and no vow until you and I both
have agreed to give in to matters of love.