A Darker Self Easily Revealed in Winter

You are made of darkness, the dark
root of your life shaping you beyond the dirt,
beyond the hay. Of existence you say
little, but the bitter secret is that
the dead outweigh the living—the black boughs
of winter trees guide the sky along
just like green branches bend in summer storms.
What you know of love is restrained not by
your heart or your old hard hands. None-the-less
you are the black road in front of my house.
It’s winter and late in the day—fires
have started all across this cold land.
I’m waiting for you to go away, to take
the wood from this old man to burn.