restless morning —
the winter fly
comes back to life

restless night —
somewhere
an ice dam...

restless night —
the kiss
that never was

snow day —
more white than I remember
in my beard

Christmas cocktail —
the children build an igloo
in an old photograph

footprints in the snow
words
I can’t take back

nine (for mmm)

it is the square
of a perfect prime,
one more than infinity
forced to stand straight up.
it shoots a longing glance
toward the river
of so many secrets.
it is the intersection
of two importantly dangerous highways.
it is a dark and lonely road.
it is our home.

cold moon —
the snap of a twig
under my boot

December rain —
the long night
longer

two weeks before Christmas
the search
for the broken bulb

snow flurries —
the crackle
of an old 78

written aboard the Acela Express

just outside New Haven
the junkers piled
three high

New London winter —
the gleam of pleasure boats
wrapped in plastic

now reaching top speed
the conductor reminds us
to read the safety card

winter chill —
shredded plastic
in a barbed wire fence

lazy midtown morning —
another layer of paint
on the rusty fire escape

lazy midtown morning —
do those green copper gargoyles
feel the cold?

new moon —
my eldest grandchild
turns four

first of December —
the darkness
before dawn

first of December —
police tape clinging
to a burned-out barn

first of December —
another cold cup
of coffee