I bite in the fur

collar of my thick jacket --


in iron-hard cold.

We weren’t supposed
To come across one another
It was a November breeze
That made us crash into
Each other’s arms
Just to leave us
Shattered in pieces

passing overhead
clouds with their bottoms clenched, rain
on parades elsewhere

i feel drunk
when reading about drunks
looped
no bracement
i look up from the book
it's 6:45 a.m.
i'm in the hospital cafeteria
nearly time for work

in a stranger
     i clock a face
                     struggling to become a face
publicly
            she breakfasts
bent under a hood of hair
(she's not sure what expression
                     to let be witnessed )
i dodge her glance

overloom
the windows
make a massive jet mirror
          reaching the full ballroom height
a shield onto hard darkness
   protected from a primal cavity
the patrons are shied in its casting
a smudging forms at its base
   the horizon beeking
   an easing hint of winters sun

the glow is wanted
          but it brings nothing new to its display
still a hibernal wash
i don't hum with these morning frequencies
they can be beautiful
but i pitch sickly
and i suspect
the stranger girl is also no dawn spark either

unkempt drey
a winter white bone tree of lungy dew
grey squirrel in an urban way
curious for shelter
checks out the drey
      and scuffs about
      but the scruffy drey
      falls into its pieces
     (in spring to decay)
the creature is left
      startled
      grappling for a purchase
      and a posture of dignity

the silvers of the moon
sing their song of winter,
exhilarating above the black
rock and distant trees, her
fire lights the night like a
street lamp, the shadows
thrown back, muted,
echoing the near-teary darks
of the clouds. i sit on the
window sill, look out,
breathe deep the midnight sky
built of love and winter rose.

In the transition time
it is peace for a while
To combat each other
the old powers are too weak

and the new ones still too small -
infants in the ****
who endear and
temporarily disarm everyone

in the pityful awareness
that this ****** will lose
its innocence to the desires

that proliferate in the growth
of body and mind and
that can disrupt lives
as if a war is going on

It will cost a life
of missed opportunities
to become old and wise
and allow peace

Drifting deeper into this September dust
It’s been a thousand nights of wide open eyes
Waking up to sounds of December dreams
Your hands shaking in this frail wind
As you try to steady your heart beat
To match the stagnancy of these cold encounters
But the little things hurt too much
And the little thoughts dissolve into your atmosphere
Faster then the rain on your skin
Drifting deep into these November nights
A thousand days of rehearsing the right words to say
When all the words you knew too well are too big to house in these hours you dwell in
So you sink into this mud made of spring
Running from a winter that craves your honesty
Your reflections sit here in this fractured mirror
Waiting for you to break this inner silence

Crisp air; the burn of Winter
Can be felt deep within
My lungs

A hazy sky keeps me grey
Keeps me melancholy
The sun out of sight
Keeps me stagnant

I yearn to be lit up again

If only I could find
The fire inside me…

…But I’ve yet to learn how