And sometimes – I will tell you – I sat and waited for the washing to dry
in the last slit of sunlight
before the cold comes cramping down
birds go mad with last calls
the neighborhood is magnified
(a child sings and slams a door and the song stops sudden:
not so the dogs who take the opportunity
to stretch their voices out to moonrise)
and the frost whores all over everything –
leaving thrills of ice like algal bloom on the sheets, on the hedges and fences and flowers
and on the shoes left on our window sill.
All our love, my dear and small footprints in your own morning.
May the birds call out your name and all your dogs come home.