My husband walks in the frosted field
an X, a concept
defined against a blank;
he swerves, enters the forest
and is blotted out.
Unheld by my sight
what does he change into
what other shape
blends with the under-
growth, wavers across the pools
is camouflaged from the listening
swamp animals
At noon he will
return: or it may be
only my idea of him
I will find returning
with him hiding behind it.
He may change me also
with the fox eye, the owl
eye, the eightfold
eye of the spider
I can't think
what he will see
when he opens the door
