the snowy beard
that hides the cold
deep voice that frames
the ice blue eyes
your red-cheeked January
shivers inside a white blanket
but it’s March now
you don’t look well
the beard is muddy
eyes drip sadness
your softer words
lost in bird song
come April
I sit with you
on your deathbed
and we both hear it
laughter
from newborns
of all creatures
twisting in the sun
it’s clouds I dislike when my soul is cold and hope must search in their shadows it’s clouds I need to force a houseclean or at least reduce the dust on my library of regrets it’s clouds I browbeat if
if you don’t care about the characters your heart falls asleep? life is no different anyone that tumbles into a well needs only confess regret and plead their deepest need to awaken neighbors who thro
for the raven who blows out his head feathers to attract a sweetie like a black-leathered Fonz he mumbles an off-color pickup line that cocks her head before both spot the ham sandwich on pumpernick