trees have blossomed
bursting
like daytime fireworks
pink and white
frozen, but swaying sweetly
with the wind.

i know things have been rough between us lately, what with “global warming” and all. on behalf of humanity, i apologize. i’m sorry. i’m sorry we use energy inefficiently and i’m sorry we’re not smart enough or concerned enough or motivated enough to develop something better. but please, don’t leave so soon. stay awhile longer. bless us with your frosty breath and let me awake to icy roads and malformed snowmen. give us at least one goddamn snow day. (it’s one of the few perks of my job.)

before we fall asleep
you look out the window and notice
the first snow of winter
finally falling
it thinly coats cars trees streets

and before we fall asleep
i pray it will stick till morning
so i can see the paw prints
of the black cat i just saw
running along the fence.

a crow alights
upon the church’s skyward cross–
leaves scrape cobblestone.

fuck you, he said
then dissolved into
the rainy evening.

she shut the door like thunder
then fell against it,
melting into the floor.

eyes clouded with tears,
head in hands flashing hate,
she prayed to God:

Jesus, why is this so fucking hard?
let me be stone. let me be the ground.
solid. unfeeling. undisturbed. Jesus,
why is this so fucking hard? just
get me the hell out
of this body.

having had enough warmth
i welcome winter’s arresting breath
let me leave the windows open
go to sleep shivering
wake up beneath covers soft as God’s lips
having held the one i love throughout the night.

among the purple
blossoms: one
ringed with white.

i would.

(but it’s spring.)

shoveled soil,
lifted,
reveals pale worms.

i took a video
of the mulberry branches’
shadows swaying.

my breath rises
through the latticed branches
to the waxing gibbous.

she opens the envelope
replaces it on the table
closes eyes inhales
the words
written in cursive recognizably
rising and falling
written in syntax matching
the map of her thoughts limited by
blue lines blue lies
and all she ever hoped
you might say.

christmas lights burn
quietly
into mid-january.

i watch the moon
eclipse–
you sleep somewhere beneath.

strings of light
we forgot to turn off–
deflated santa in a heap.

i called you
two minutes from home
because the moon,
low and orange and gigantic on the horizon,
was worth seeing

when you couldn’t see it
you told me to pick you up
so i pulled over
you stepped in
and we drove

no longer visible from
where i had called you
we continued to drive
over the bridge
into the next town–
to no avail–
nothing lay on the horizon anymore

we marveled
at the speed of the moon
(but really, the speed of the earth’s rotation)
kissed beneath nothing but a street lamp
and drove home.

the leaves’ shadows
shift across the red brick wall–
an unseasonal warmth.