Softly Comes Slowly

Softly comes slowly
to the middle years
of this winter,
the wind brews
a cold cup of resin,
while clouds are
chipped chotchkies,
fisherkings straddle
an edge of memory
as the moon crouches
to explain


The Last of ‘Still Autumn’

A day of dipping tree
first winter is due tonight
I would call the hour “still autumn”
and so we spend still autumn
rearranging the fire into fire
knowing the snow will come
all at once every car the same model
every tree turning to see