It is cold, so very cold.
The angels in the architecture clamor
for the exhaust from the drier, billowing in clouds from the base of the basement wall.
all is new, if only altered. Street names are forgotten, memories linger
on bated breath, rarely finding a voice.
Sequences of dreams slip into the snow,
never to be seen again. I gather a few for my wedding, their memories strong
enough to survive the winter. A long winter it will be. A changing season, a distant bell from St. Dominic’s.
Lingering over a cup of coffee. My lady 8000 miles away, her feet wagging with anticipation. A dog without a bone.
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