January 4, 2009
the sky, coffee,
an espresso of dark,
or chocolate melted smooth
over the land, or
molasses, crude oil,
everything dark, sticky, slow
as my thoughts today
driving through the tunnel of the afternoon
frozen so deep the snow soaks up
light, gleams only gray.
Ahead of me the double red
beads of taillights against a taffeta
of exhaust. We drivers sit hunched
clutching steering wheels,
eyes toward home.
It is the deep well at the end of the year.
The light slows, drags itself sleepily
over the edge of the day, flush with dreams,
then sinks back down again.
As I would do. For all the taffeta things:
ambition, plans, gossip, the memory of garden-
seem worn threadbare by this dark time
or slowed, soothed asleep. Deep
in some dark corridor, something
coils: a lizard’s tail, wide blind eyes.
It uncurls in my mind
when all is still,
(From We Tempt Our Luck, forthcoming from Astounding Beauty Ruffian press)