These gusts seem to move the house
for which i am suddenly grateful
and guilty
even wondering 'bout the wildlife in this
gale of snow


even buried a line
back there
in that gap
between the stanzas
got it

sheepish
in the cold
i make soup
of
my life

or maybe
the
soup of my life
it is
that good

the warm
tasty
on my toasted
buttered rye
upside
of avoidance


Copyright@2019 Dennis Willis