bare-foot on window ledge
with knees to chest
while coldness
weaves a nightgown
from shoulders to horizon
it snows with cryogenic
wool
white is all there is
and
when his sleepless temples
slump in my lap
blood flows a crimson tide
through half my heart
and a bird
wings back into my bones
as waters rise
under soles

I've always had flying handy
and his arms
arc



NewStalgica Hymnal, Ottawa, 2009