Now that it’s spring, and maybe even summer, I feel as if I can release into the void a collection of wintery thoughts.
About as Close to Winning as You Can Possibly Get
How is it done? Try
The unexpected sun inside a candy wrapper,
Or slick below in still-defiant leaves.
In a tired-but-still smile made of lips.
In a red coat on a doorstep as it begins to rain.
It exists in the quiet fitting together sensation,
In a seeking hand in hair across an uneasy hour.
It exists, startlingly, in those gray-minor times
Or sudden cold-inversions,
And makes the dark somehow warm.
Then one perfectly sunny morning, a
That says: Yes.
How deep the cold goes,
I don’t care to contemplate.
But the odd glance is telling:
And sheer alcoholic weight.
I can’t feel my toes.
Even when we are sharing breath
I am finding it difficult to breathe.