New Year

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Old man winter on the faces of the rocks
His hoary beard a carven ice tear
The Romans were right about the shape of the year
Winter is the time when time gasps and stops
Some are painted with words I do not know
When time and Spring returns I go
Until then, I breathe between the drops.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Be night, benightment
Enshroud, reveilation
Dim down, endarkenment
Conceal, remystification
When the moon shines on the lake
And the night is a heard and silent song
It must be that all light that is fake
Has been muffled, shrouded, as good as gone.
a postscript is here written:
dark enlightenment


The White Car

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
This car has seen as many winters
Is it then become an edifice
Not because it can turn its face
It has not cracks or splinters
But has for as long observed the sun
For a constructed thing, as any one

It disappeared one snowy day--
Broom-wielding I emerged to ride
Not the tool, this sorcery aside
But to clear for it a way
Some disappearing spell was cast
To turn it into snow at last!


High Winter

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
The next day, and the day after that
Though cold and clear, the snow swept clean
By fugue of wind in an icy dream
Our tread forgot in the white and flat.


Justice and Mercy

it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
The bright line between the wrong and right
Breaks not for your compassion's want
It is not merely a moral stunt
It has no care for your offense or slight
If anything, it's effulgence blinds
For those who read between the lines.



it is addressed thusly:
An ode
it reads:
I did not come to the city, it came while I slept
Covering the places where secrets once were kept
The sun and the moon, the stars and the night
That naught but the fire would give its light
And the seasons would recede into warm and cold
The crowd! The crowd which could turn all youth old
Treading down the meadows, treading down the lanes
Hanging up their shingles, setting up their fanes
But I did not act; and stayed just where I was
Harried by the hurried, blind and deaf from the buzz
I had nothing of my own, not what we used to call
No keep, no orchard, no appointed feasting hall
I had only my heart, my keys and my only God
I had but for the moment, the earth on which I trod
They call me anachronism, they call me costume play
I am sometimes considered dangerous, deluded if they may
Though I fast and pray, having hardly air to breathe
Still like a stupid pillar, I stay and do not leave
Until I woke one morning, to a disconcerting theft
While I was sleeping, the city took itself, and left!



it is addressed thusly:
A thought.
it reads:
You and I, my dear traveler beside
My evenings of thought and love of cold
Your charm and art with words fast told
Are obsolete, so let us enjoy this ride.


Before Five

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
In that time just before five AM
When the last night owl has gone to bed
And just before great doers raise their head
The streets breathe a quiet as before they began.


The Riders

it is addressed thusly:
A vision.
it reads:
Romans on the subway, Vikings on the bus
Neon lights burn a sign in the back of my eye
About an uncaring time they try to prophesy
But our gaze passes on to the last of us