2-11-2014

Do you say
snow machine
or snowmobile,

These days escaping
Mittened dawns;

These uncle's walls
spinning
in hall-light

and ankles, naked in boots?

Do you understand
what splits the difference,
when all light is blue,
and all traversed

Wide-circled, tracks
turn clockwork
over passage?

In dreams,
the pines have been
planted
in patterns.

(Do you say
dusk,
or twilight?)

Do you hear
the ring of the bell
before
or after
church?

Have you
reached out
to catch it?

The dream of
old Chicago
and your
remembered days,
and the road-edges
miled up
like muscular serpents
mocking
your crushing heel
in vain.