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Bruised Forest
Among evergreens newlyweds
wander, sweet william
and maidenhair at their feet.
You are alone.
You are always alone.
Friends’ homes are “Daddy!”
and the drumroll of tiny feet,
yours your arthritic cat’s limp
and the AC’s hum.
Couples haunt you—
at the Strand, on the 1 train,
at eggnog jams, on this trail in Maine.
The bruised forest drips red leaves.
Kingbirds stud the ridgepole. The stream
is twelve thousand translucent trout.
You are alone. And no one
is coming to save you. 
Bruised Forest
i know who you
are
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