In memory, some-
thing in the water

crashes pink
over stone

A gold quilt, a lace
tent, the same un-
spooling song

There: cows as

There: landscape
stretching out

Sprawl of hours
mapped in green

You counted animals,
decaying barns, your

fingers soft on

Describe them to me:
side-sleeping in sunlight
or wandering up the hill

Describe your thumb
brushing sound from

metal, the glass your
eyes peer through

You in the passenger seat,
our fevered drive, you
my eyes beyond me

Five years ago, you sent
a song called Annie’s Box to me

I imagined my own
of quartz or water,
my miniature pool

To marry you, to trace
this road of sleeping
cows before us

To know the day is only
one & held above all else:

the metal you coil, my crawl-
ing voice, the coins we count
at night

To dream of you in our
tangling days, time the
distance we can’t cross

At midnight this blank

At dawn the drone
of fog

AM Ringwalt is a writer and musician. The author of The Wheel (Spuyten Duyvil), she is a contributing blogger for Action Books. Her writing appears in Music & Literature, La Vague and Black Warrior Review. Called "ghostly" by American Songwriter, Waiting Song is her most recent record.