Dining al fresco in December,
jogging thrice around the park
in the dead-bang cold of winter,
joining polar-bear enthusiasts,
his stubby pallid arms churning
the frigid waters of the sound,
he forever serves up the same
marmoreal gaze to one and all:
waitresses, barmen and bellhops,
friends and relatives (his or hers),
business rivals who can never
plumb the depth of his icy reserve,
and of course his very own wife.
 
Abed he is equally unthawable.
His movements are tres precise,
his performance always skilled

The last leaves are golden, 

When you lay to waste
all that you have built,
And undo
all that you have learned.
 
When you are done
wallowing in shame and guilt
and see around you
nothing but darkness;
 
Come unto me
and I will accept you.
 
When you find
no place to hide
and are overwhelmed
by fear and despair,
And in your heart of hearts
you repent for your misdeeds;
 
Come unto me
and I will forgive you.
 
For you are born of me
And unto me thou shalt return –
Meek as a lamb,

After the Snowstorm

Is it a Chevy or a bear
beneath that hulking heap of snow,
hibernating in its lair?

If it’s alive, its breaths are slow
as ice floes on Europa’s seas.
It shall keep dozing; I’ll not go

and dig it out (though chickadees
chuckle at this chilliness).
Light paws and hiking boots now breeze

around the neighborhood. O bless
the snowplows! Sidewalks everywhere
are unobstructed (more or less).

I muse while breathing bracing air:
why bug a sleeping Chevy-bear?

Hesitant, your voice when I pick the phone up but soon we've returned to a remembered flow from two years earlier. I hold your warm words against my face. It's winter outside. As we talk I scrape moss from the windowsill and watch it falling, so much of it; I hadn't noticed it before.

With you, there was a flame; 
A bonfire of wonder and hope igniting in my heart.
It was beautiful and amazing, and I let it consume me.
I gave my very soul over to you, trusted you not to crush me.

And that was the worst decision.

You grew bored with my company, I suppose. 
Dumped bucket after bucket of water over me, quenching the heat.
Smoke rose for months, tears always welling behind my lids, always threatening to slip down my cheeks.

And so I was alone in the Universe.
And so I am alone in the Universe.

Until I heal, move on.

Tear-stained cheeks glisten with apprehension and I look away in fear of feeling all I have ridden from my own consciousness, that I have left in the darkness and no longer given nourishment, instead choosing to give breath to my wings and soar across the world without a burden on my back-- in selfishness, in greed? No--in nurturance of my own well-being. The darkness will always be there, but there my mind will not hover and my heart will finally recover from its time spent without light, for now I have taken flight.