From a notebook, 1982, Helsinki

After so much is said and the candles are low…

I’m no match for the godless nights
And if there are gods I’m no match for them either
I build a fence badly, tear it down after dark

**

I used to love Wallace Stevens
I was young

**

Thus the dog bursts into my poem
Follows me home

A mild wind follows the dog

**

Up river where a stand of birches leans
Walking with a spent candle in my coat

Author: skuusisto

Poet, Essayist, Blogger, Journalist, Memoirist, Disability Rights Advocate, Public Speaker, Professor, Syracuse University View all posts by skuusisto