it is hard to lay
so still along the length of
the dead tree, among the brown
yellow-cat-eyed leaf skeletons and the
"come home soon" of the in walking
dirty clouds.
(maybe a new rain, or an
older soft snow who will lay and dance
and swallow fresh air and then
hold the scent of my excitement
in it. i can roll it with my
pink palms and place it in the freezer.
it will not melt.)
I will begin the trek back towards
daylight soon. when it gets deep and
hungry like this outside,
there is nothing more correct
than to wait it out,
as a caterpillar dressed for the
formal, a caught glance uphill,
watching a young girls legs as they struggle against
gravity. hello skirt, hello and god bless
to the perverted wind.