January 8

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poetry

It encloses and divides
of course not just physically

say them and we become
us because of what

we are not–
imply danger

like an impatient shadow
which makes this safety

but not for much longer–
so what has changed?

The sun got lower.
Sell it quickly

there is no time, suddenly
no time to lose–

loss is arriving
so deny it

be afraid so they
become fearsome

discredit suffering
or accept the precarious–

was any of this earned?
This side of the sunset

and so not that
could it be

so arbitrarily that
the lots are drawn?

Like a line on a map
in the sand–

you have to draw it
somewhere or else

it wouldn’t exist
and then where

would we be?
And who?

December 22

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poetry

this day was longer
than the day before it

late filtered sun
on snow-laden trees

winter is textural
rime ice and powder

everything built
upon another

cold pastiche
this punched out step

in a snowfield
an irreversible mark

sharp punctuation
but not indelible

this night this storm
will erase it

nothing lasts
not even nothing

December 18

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poetry

Such a long long way
to go and still think

maybe not–
call it a joke

or call it a knife
it gets the point across

.

Real snow recently
deep stuff

cathartic erasure
a blank slate

for a blank stare
for whatever can’t be said

.

Hesitation is an answer
delay is an answer

even silence is an answer
yes, it can be heard–

in the depths of the glades
my ears were ringing from it

December 8

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poetry

Blink and it’s gone
the gingko bare, not golden

any old tree now
another bleak gray day

could be any Northern city
really from this low height

every houseplant
shoved up by the window

for the the briefest glimpse
of light, probably too cold

and dry for the orchid
but mild discomfort

soft complaint
that’s how you know

you’re alive
the crepe jasmine

that never unfurls
its blooms,

waiting for something
that never

arrives, sometimes
it hurts to look at it

November 23

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poetry

the rain eased up
the cold persisted

holiday evenings
and not enough chairs

hey so when are you…?
a battery of questions

some blunted by the years
some softer, owing

to wisdom, knowing
what not knowing

for years means
a bridge washed out

a road not finished
even yes can mean no

when prized
out like a stuck door

unburdened by solace
by desire

it isn’t speakable
so just smile

too widely
turn one’s attention

to the fire
that is dying

all heartwood
no kindling

it’s filling the room
with smoke

November 20

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poetry

If not resentment
what then? Tomorrow

a sulking rain.
Even without

an action
premonition

of motion
premeditated

carelessness
a glance might

linger or
it might be

furtive
but like

a glancing blow
it also lands

November 18

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poetry

Stilled, the chills sets in
in fingers and toes and heels–

still, it seems easier to stay
in so many ways,

yes, facile–
but the sky is cloudy

and the moon is half full,
what blame is there really?

No long shadows here,
regret like one too many,

only one, so easily walked back
and the sun tomorrow

outside this window is such
a ridiculous shade of gold–

generosity, magnimosity,
can’t look right at it, either

November 17

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poetry

a game, to step around
the fallen leaves, to not

disturb the early hours
you can’t not face it

properly cold out now
and it isn’t a coincidence

if there’s a causal link
what comes next is mostly predictable