Do yourself a favor and go read more poems by the formidable and heartbreaking Ruth Stone (1915-2011).
“Green Apples”
In August we carried the old horsehair mattress
to the back porch
and slept with our children in a row.
The wind came up the mountain into the orchard
telling me something:
saying something urgent.
I was happy.
The green apples fell on the sloping roof
and rattled down.
The wind was shaking me all night Long,
shaking me in my sleep
like a definition of love,
saying, this is the moment, here, now.
live in the layers 