The Dead of Winter

I walk out into 

the dark and bitter

the hidden 

sun exhales 

as we spin into 

its orange hair

sagging houses 

are strewn 

across the hills 

blue winds

are winding

through the trees.

At the car door

fumbling for keys

a single chime

of rusted metal 

hanging off 

an abandoned 

clothes line

sounds a note

that holds itself 

like the body 

of a brown bird

suspended 

in the ice

beneath the lake.

My dead 

Aunt Mitza
laughs as her 
96 hatchback

coughs itself

to life.

I wonder 

what's become

of her tiny 

lifeless body

as I drive north 

through eternity
along the
frozen hills

of Fontenelle Blvd.

The car is creaking
and cracking

in the cold

as the giant 

clock 

of the universe 

slowly turns 

its violent gears.





















































.

February Snow

This watery

place. 

Standing 

beneath 

the Walnut

in my snow

covered

leather shoes

the skin 

of another

keeping my 

feet warm

there are

yellow 

tulips

waiting

underneath

the ice

and fiery 

stars 

scattered 

across the 

endless dark

for us

to hang 

our stories on

infant minds

blossoming

in the quiet

flickering

light

and the only

question after 

everything

tired eyes 

staring back 

from the dark 

morning

reflection

is how 

to love

more fully.

.