That night the train rumbled to the south of us

sounding thunder into the shrinking prairie,

 

I drew the curtains back to see if the forecast was true;

 

but somehow looked past the thick, falling snow

and into the tree that kept changing faces in the moving light.

 

Your words were so soft and few from your stilled, unfolded form,

I pulled them against me like a sheet that gets tangled when you keep turning in your sleep.

 

I thought I felt the earth shake then—

from the train or from something else.                                                                                                                        

 

and counted its thunder and the peaceful calm that followed,

among some of my greatest blessings.