sweetly sifting first prose of winter
yonder mosey covered little feet
in snow yet simply for the future
you remark of freckled slates of white

we've bayoneted fall
and oncome the beards of ice
but dally, dally all you like my dear
we're shrink-wrapped in love

I've been
getting
tired

since
1954

when my father was
born

since when
we would
begin
beginning

to eventually
end
and anyways

I don't have insomnia
but I do watch
wildly

with my lower spine
and whine

and refrigerate
my mind

and he there,
that one

looks into
my eyes
as if

I've been
kicking him
since he was
a child

and
keeps it
up