It must have been a windy night like this
the trees swaying and hissing,
tossing their hair in desperate gestures,
when he broke out of the spell
and realized it wasn’t fair.
He never chose her.
When he woke up, she stood before him
like a bright goblet filling up with water.
He was thirsty. How splendid
it can be to drink when you’re thirsty,
was what he thought. He was that young.
Now he realizes there is a stain
spreading on his heart, that the name
she gave the Yak chafes him
and she sings off key. He never chose
her. He’d like to grab his knife
and cut off her song
but rain is slanting down
and she is running toward him, her eyes terrified
under the bending, cracking maples
and a curtain pulls back in him
and he takes her into his arms
and begins the long journey toward
learning to love what he’s been given.