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.