Snow Sleep

the promise~warning of a fresh snow delivery
by milky white angels alters the soundscape
of the city; the early traffic is major muted; the
boisterous, ribald ribbing of teenage competition
is put away in the drawer, reserved for weekend
snow ball fights and Central Park mountain sledding

but what I come to tell you is of my beloved, who nearby,
advantaged by the silence deep sleeps in the ultra
quiet of the bedroom for I have tiptoed lightly away,
nary a squeak or a tweet to sting or wrest the cool
comfort of the concoction of dark+chocolate combo
of absolute silence, the political commentators must now wait their turn, while supping my endless Blue Mountain white mug

yes, even I, wide awake for hours, sense the ulterior
sensory deprivation, the only noise is the windage
of the air conditioning that refrigerates its humming
and the body’s humming response, a choral harmony
of shhhhh…

why matters this to you, I do not know, perhaps
a mutuality of recognition as your children exercise
their snow day privileges, letting you off the hook,
for there is always tomorrow when the dragging-
out-of-bed, the stomping of snow boots, and pleas
to help them find their hidden scarfs and gloves cannot
go ignored, or be silenced…today, this sound of snow~sleep,
a rarity for us city dwellers, who, the unfortunate few, will soon venture forth to meet obligations, completecontracts, open the shop,
write the reports and do the daily diurnal or place calls to counterparts overseas to jointly prognosticate the future of
the next twenty four, but with a snowy lethargy

I write, this, to you, to my children, to the world, but
mostly to my beloved, who, drugged by snow~sleep,
yet to stir, sleeps a soundless sleep of….

wait-a-minute, 8:00am, and I hear a bellow of hello,
a lighthouse sound of warning, and kitchen noises,
the cicadas of circadian rhythms cannot be held back,
triumphantly awaken her, the habits of a lifetime
cannot be overcome…

8:04am
nyc
2/13/24

I woke up at angles with you
---a parallelogram, opposite but equal,
my thoughts in constant rotating view
---a diagram, showing us where
our homes are laid to rest,
where streets became dead spiders
caught in their own webs.

If we are in transit via tunnel,
aqueduct, or escalator,
it might be cinema.

If we lose atlas in the worship of light,
it might be cinema.

But I can't find you here;
here, where they used to build ships
from sand and steam
and science fiction;
where they used to design
buildings so as to create
a dissonant and mournful
whistling sound when wind
blew through them
---ostentatious things;
dead people’s things.

Through walls and underneath concrete, dug so deeply
into the wide plains
and withered, gnarled tree roots
of an agonizer's conurbation,
is a space halfway to the zenith,
charting the prescribed power
of in-betweenness.

Never again will we draw meaning from
our proximity to one another.

the night’s stones weigh
heavy like the cloud -

everything sinks.  

the cry of a bird -
eerie like a ghost -

the night speaks
of autumn, of windows
now shuttered to the
stars, of leaves painted
silver and gold.

a cat wires his claws to the
dark, drops down from a wall,
lands with his fur full of sky.

And your glance,
Was the aroma of an orange tree...
That used to turn my body green;
When I'm seeing you,
Spring grows in me...

The
tilt of my seesaw
is decidedly downward facing dog:

and there’s no rush to judgment, for the powers that be,
be delighted by slow-walking, making the waiting
max-tortuous, but am of an age when everything,
even the long buried sins and unkept promises,
poke and **** nonstop, and the formulae once
relied upon to ease incipient self-deception,
to temporize and salve the consternations

of unkempt aggravated remorse fail,

as aged misdemeanors be matured felonies,
I blurt and declare guilt to all, alas, and yet, in the
ultimate crushing of tardiness, knotted by indignity of silence,


no one is desirous
of taking my
confession

5:10pm
Thu Jan 28
2023

through distant isles i searched for him
my only love, my one true knight,
and i a spirit, silver-haired,
a ghost of night.

oh, he was battle scarred and worn
from long crusades in foreign lands
and through parched deserts still i roam
the wind-blown sands.

i'll not forget him, never rest,
until i've whispered in his ear
undying love through moon-blanched lips
and held him near.

oh, hear me crying like the wind
through every forest, every sea,
i walk the earth, a phantom shade,
unceasingly.

and snow is cold but not as chill
as the iced ****-frost of my breath
the taste of winter in my kiss,
a wraith of death!

i'll wrap him in my gauzy limbs,
ignite the fire in his vein,
encircle him in clouds of mist
and free my chain.

through distant isles i searched for him
my only love, my one true knight,
and i a spirit, silver-haired,
a ghost of night.