snow

its snowing on my last night in new york.
the snow has massed quietly while i slept.

when i say 'snow', you know that i mean 'sad',
when i say 'me', you know that i mean 'us'.

in the twilight slick hours of before-morning,
i hold on to what I can own;

snow has grown on the slim windowsill ledge like pulled cottonwhite skeins--
inhospitable shelf,
powder-lacquer,

my lamp must glow from the inside room,
watched from the threads of the outside storm.

afternoon

tomato juice
sun
bees
yellow shelves
birdcalls
largest crow
leaking afternoon light
clock tick
tock
smote (smite).

blue polished rippled stone
quiet hinge
right

in the middle

of the afternoon.


held breath stitch step

and then my head falls forward
again falls over into the end of the day.