Dark Star

When the sun finally dies and goes out
like a candle sputtering in a dark room
where an old man sleeps the sleep of the innocent
dreaming our lives for us,

And the wild animals have stopped forever in their night-paths,
looking up at the stars growing brighter,
the moon cloven, the farm house dark,
the farm animals frozen where they huddled together,

And the cold face of the moon stares down
at the woman forever leaning over her sleeping child,
the lovers forever locked in each other’s arms,
the boy forever at his desk, the curtains moving in a draft,

And the earth cracks open
disgorging all the names of the righteous,
and the dead begin to stir
hearing their names called from far away,

And the tides of darkness rise
carrying an empty ship into the city,
and the song that began in the beginning
begins again its final chorus,

Then God will take you into His arms
and you will kiss His many faces,
and a crow will set out across emptiness,
its wing blackening stars.

Southside Slopes

Today my tall son leads us up the Southside
     slopes, winding through locust
          and oak, choke-cherry
thickets, my small daughter holding

my hand, my wife glancing continually
     over her shoulder at the blue city across
          the river. Up a crumbling shale cliff
we scramble, emerging on a sparse

grassy plain with rock out-
     croppings. A trickle cuts across, trenching
          the earth. Quick
hungry sparrows scatter at our approach. Nicholas shows

the rusted Chevy he’s discovered, the seats
      sprung, the axle snapped, the engine lying
          half apart buried in gravel. How
the car got to this strange meadow in the city is

a mystery, but here it is, like us
      beautifully out of its element. Yellow
          forsythia blooms out of reach
in the yards checkering the slope. The steel mill’s

empty windows stare
      at the green spires of the orthodox
          church. The muscular
Monongahela pushes past the Salvation

Army store and the ruined natatorium where
      steelworkers once swam the soot
          off their scorched bodies. The early
spring sky opens large, cloudless as we head down

past the waterworks and the monastery. Crisscrossed
      by shadows under the railroad
          bridge, Eva helps Lea
into the weeds to pee. Nicholas and I

pretend not to know them. He toes
      a dandelion growing between bricks. He is
          changing in the slow afternoon
light so rapidly, I barely know him.