Martha starting college

I am imagining you
as you were that night
we went walking, down
the street, out near the field
of horses. A mist had thickened
in the air above the grass

and we couldn’t see them,
only hear the shudder
of their hooves. Your breath
was soft, your face
just visible by the diffuse
light of the moon and the far lamp
of the neighbor’s garage—
you had a look

of such calm focus, staring out
over the obscured field
as if you could see, right
through the mist, something
in the field’s very center.
I reached to hug you,
and watched your gaze
turn towards me again,
the vision passed.
That was sometime

in the summer. When I last
called you on the phone,

I spoke a long time
before you said anything, and then
came someone else’s voice

on your end, laughing, and
some change—I heard you
take a good, deep breath,
then say you had to go.
Towards what,
I wonder, what is it
that you’re facing
in the fields where you are now,
mostly corn, I imagine, vast
hills of it, all neat in rows except
a thin gold dust, stirred,
sometimes, by the wind
passing over.