Winter For The Northern Lake Country

It
will always be the one
I remember

when
she walked out
the door

and I
didn’t follow her curves
into
the rain of
the cold night

or
the lights of the street
fill her eyes
turning the sentiments
of men
into loyal tragic sadness

I watched the mirror
I watched the clock
I failed to watch her leave

then
the winter settled in

and
I bought wool socks
for
the
winter of the northern lake
country

The Matriarch Freemason

  
She’s going to
place things
in paragraphs
for me.

The way that she talks.

The pace that she speaks.

A partitioning of characters,

a placing of time.

The beats between the world
and
outside

we shelter
into love,

this love within
the walls of
old buildings,
built of crumbling bricks.

Messenger Messenger Satellite

I trust when the autumn
goes away
with
your feelings
my feelings

past the Italian bakery
the pets in windows
the warmth in coats
and scarves on cold Sunday mornings
when your eyes like
crystals
under the million miles of sun

I see the blue
the new civilizations
the new ways of living
the clean clean consoles
and the white ambient light

I trust the past has melted

I sit in the den

The brush fields of the south
now the purgatory of
northern cities
and messenger messenger
satellites
turning high above