Snow
I found you in a cotton shirt,
lying long ways in the living room floor,
while the ceiling fan slowed to a crawl
and December chill crept in from the window.
You dropped your shoulders into the Saxony carpet
while the fibers bent around you like perfect eggshell sand.
They cradled the base of your neck, reminded you
of a time when summer filled the room, filled
our mouths, tasted wine thick between us.
And you didn’t seem to notice
when I said your name.
~
Oak
He looks at me with oak tree brown,
wise, like the crimson rings in the whites
of his eyes count the age of his soul.
He sways but does not sleep.
If I broke apart his skin and searched for green,
I wonder if I would find wilted leaves,
if I would find bark running between
veins in the branches.
Wise, like the crimson rings in the whites
of his eyes count the age of his soul.
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