Except for a light upstairs the house was dark.
His car still trembled after the four hour drive,
and little boys’ breath was soft as their beating hearts
as he gathered them gently, carried them in to his wife.
The eye of the moon peered into the muted rooms,
its soft light tickled the dishes and half-eaten food
that scattered the tables like crusted daubs of paint
in a work by a loon whose hell was designed by saints.
He settled the boys and covered them in their beds
and tiptoed softly into her lofty room.
A single candle guttered against the moon
and silvered her shining eyes as she sighed and said,
I thought you had left forever, and life was gone;
But now you’re back, and nothing has changed: I’ve won.