Winter Man

Between houses with asbestos siding

and power lines connecting

and disconnecting the neighborhood,

he dwells in familiar discomfort

among stale pillows

and rolling hills of macadam

not far from the forest.

He walks lightly- almost invisibly –

but sees more colors than most

and knows their meanings.

Movement of rails and wheels

keep the city moving and dirty,

taking him from hunger to curated canvas

and all he wants is to feel less sad.

Lean limbs and sharp eyes give way

to a tired view that he cannot help

skewing with fresh angles and a dark hilarity.

He is hope without knowing it.

His heart is closed and closer

to the end of his story than beginning;

the tragedy of his winter

is that he feels all used up,

but he is magic and light and is loved

by those who embrace the cold.

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Rainstorm at year’s end

proclaiming nothing new

but touching the dark

with cool precision

and a wayward song

tapping a sloshing journey.

Tiny anthem

The blue star floats

through wintry dusk

licking the edges of shadow,

even the ones inside

as we cling to whatever bit of self

as contained within tiniest motes

of diamond-snow on branches,

faint greening along rivers, or

a whispering song into a great dark open.

Riotous

The moon was a heavy drop of milk

in a creamy dark sky

and I sparkled, breaking free

of my cube, gloriously,

in a riot of color.

Of course, it was dark

so the moon made everything

glow like silver -or dead skin.

But oh, how the dance unfolded

beneath my feet! And my heart was full

of night, as night should always be:

forgiving, warm, dark, and open.

Lunch bites

The apple stem hits my teeth

as I hungrily gnash at the flesh

and I imagine tasting other hands

that handled the apple before I did;

I didn’t bother washing it, just the

almost-acceptable polish-on-the-pants

technique, which leaves all the germs

yet a nice shiny denim glow.

I had the good sense to pull my hair back

or I’d be eating that too.

My curls taste a little like old showgirl,

with a dalliance of muppets.

My kisses taste of golden delicious

and chocolate. With a dash of mania.

I ate through to the seeds.

I look at the seeds, the possibilities,

the knowledge of fruit and skin

and all Eden held before we mucked it up.

I toss the whole core in the trash.

I unwrap another kiss.