SNOW

Silent water.

The wind’s skimpy dress.

Dust in pretty boxes
latticed, latched.

Not infinite
but uncountable.

It falls outside windows

and the house rises.

In the fireplace

bright struggle,

flutter and hiss.

Smoke, smoke.
Remember us,

made of dust
and water.

AWRY

Surveyor’s stake
in a landfill. Tumbleweed

in a laundry basket.

Askance. Askew. Hay
wire. Better wear waders

to play that piano
in the surf. Take

a headlamp.

Almost dark.
Water’s rising.

CONTAINED

March 2020

I have to tell you
this: today I did

nothing. Nothing
all day. Time,

once numbers,
became angles

of sunlight, then
degrees of dark

streaked with red:
fire on the ridge.

High, and far. No
threat to me. But I

need to tell you, you
whom I do not know.