when winter breaks and trees become aware

when winter breaks and trees become aware

when a fine film of green settles on distant hill.

when the once stark and gray outlined

now smells new and moist

i come home to a house of small reasoning

and ancient pots and pans.

in your throat is the sound i heard

blue in the light of late night television,

asleep as michael before an altar,

a hymn.

simple twisting rhyme drugging as coffee or lazy smoke,

thin and disguised as the sistine chapel.

it is a music of the hills.

it is lyric

full of appropriate looks

wrinkled hand on shaking cane

noting the passing of coin

noting the passing of color

noting the passing of blood

food, children, pets.

dear glazed watery blue eye

following the twitching movement of strangers in the room,

following the sun cast progress across bare walls

full of appropriate meanings.

it is lyric.

when winter breaks and trees become aware

when clocks slow

when clutter in memory like dust settles upon afternoon sleep.

we’ll offer small rivers of joy and hurt.

pale smiles that say:

i’ve heard you sing by the shore when i was young.

i saw you swim a mile to an island.

i saw you fill your palms with callous and sweat.

i saw you stumble, stutter and slave.

and once at night

i heard passion leave your throat,

coming to me through the thin walls of your room next to mine

and i wondered:

is this how it begins?

is this how it ends?

when winter breaks and trees become aware,

when carpets of mayapple and moss close upon my feet as i walk,

i’ll station myself by your door

and wait.