Once, when the night was quiet still.
You carried me to sleep.
You joked and spoke of Winnipeg,
And I of friends to keep.
The burning road awaited me,
But not, that night, just then,
We’d sing away dark on all our nights,
Our Gilead had no end.
But songs have changed and voices too,
In exile do I know,
The nights go deaf with landing jets,
The days with all I owe.
Retreat and fear would reason, I think,
If not for sunset’s gift;
The graces of this straining world,
And of the next world too—
Ringing, leaping, laughing still—
In memory orange, bold for you.