Tuesday, February 1, 2011

The Weather

I am ready to move beyond the blank flurries,
the voice of solitude, which banks next to me
and sails over my neighbor's roof --

I am ready for a forecast, for a simple weather drop,
but this is my sixth season remembering you
and as I count back days, it would seem that daylight
no longer keeps time; you are at a distance

i could never reach

between my watch tower and my neighbor's walls.
there is the sound of water thawing, motes and torrents carrying you away,
but the silence of neighborhood streets gives pause, still
iced cold, and your keys left solid by the door

1 comment:

becca said...

beautiful and hauting well done