when it starts to get warm i miss pittsburgh
via me
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berlin
via me
january
You my sweet young boy
mummied in scarves and hats
staring through a cloud.
the blow of snow into eyelashes and nostrils
know that it is winter’s slap
winter’s harsh bite
winter’s lonely foe
as unique snowflakes form
on your upturned horny brow.
but my old sweet boy
the one I knew when I knew
nothing much at all
only feels a warm palm
tree
and a soft
wind
and stares through a rainbow
at an ocean I know not the map of.
so while I also feel the bite
of winter’s tooth
you may as well live,
my old sweet boy
in another year entirely
and you may mutter,
“the seasons colliding make distance
much more distrusting for a hudson river
woman
like you”
as I live in the fall leaves we once
jumped into
finding the single needle
once placed there.






