If It Ever Happens that a Candle Goes Out

If It Ever Happens that a Candle Goes Out

It’s never the same longing

that leads me into the dredges at the fishery.

It’s always something unclear, muddied

by what gathers around my eyes.

Something like a cuckoo calls the hours

like an old clock, only not the hours

that are essential.  I think I see the day

tossing back what it is shown.  But you cannot hope

backwards or in reverse.  Someone I love

has died, I am certain, but I cannot tell who.