Her sickness brought me to Connecticut. br Mornings I walk the dog: that part of life br is intact. Who's painted, who's insulated br or put siding on, who's burned the lawn br with lime—that's the news on Ardmore Street. br br br The leaves of the neighbor's respectable br rhododendrons curl under in the cold. br He has backed the car br through the white nimbus of its exhaust br and disappeared for the day. br br br In the hiatus between mayors br the city has left leaves in the gutters, br and passing cars lift them in maelstroms. br br br We pass the house two doors down, the one br with the wildest lights in the neighborhood, br an establishment without irony. br All summer their putto empties a water jar, br their St. Francis feeds the birds. br Now it's angels, festoons, waist-high br candles, and swans pulling sleighs. br br br Two hundred miles north I'd let the dog br run among birches and the black shade of pines. br I miss the hills, the woods and stony br streams, where the swish of jacket sleeves br against my sides seems loud, and a crow br caws sleepily at dawn. br br br By now the streams must run under a skin br of ice, white air-bubbles passing erratically, br like blood cells through a vein. Soon the mail, br forwarded, will begin to reach me here.