Freight train
in the sky – nothing
sacred against such
storms as these. No
grace of quiet snow,
but ice and freezing
rain, and wind so wild
it strips the shadows
from the stars and lays
them on our souls, our
restless hearts. And finally
in darkness, nothing
left to see but who
we really are.
We ski on dirt
and twisted bands
of greying ice
half melted, just
for the chance
to bathe in the white gold
of January sunshine
and in the other’s
winter words,
falling now
like precious snowflakes
on our eager ears.
If you have the feeling
that something
might be missing,
turn on
the night music
and sit back
as each sweet particle
dances you
back to
yourself.
where did you come from?
wherever it is, I think
I’d like to go there.
At the sink
I pour his ashes
from one baggie
to another. Bits
of bone roll
down the drain.
His arm
is around me then,
and the two
of us –
we are
laughing.
the moon wanes, not so
this heart, uncertain it knows
anything but full.
liquid white, full moon
soaks the landscape – our eyes, they
cannot look away.
over and over,
remind me how sacred, how
brief, how delicate…
On a day like today,
when only the slim
edge of cloud reveals
that there might
be such a thing as
sunlight, and the wind
is bitter cold
like the space between
your belly and your
heart – let us move
toward one another,
or perhaps move closer
to ourselves,
and be grateful for
this sky
that makes us hunt
for small shelters.
pod of laughter, our
car hurtles through the night, all
music and stardust.
