I had it
in my head
and was reaching
for my pen
when the waitress
asked
if I wanted sugar.
Into the pond
of her skin
like a fish
the word slipped.

Yes, I said
instead

Two Dogs

lying in the dusty street

a brown one twitching happy dreams
of tomorrow sound asleep

another blond and dead under a vulture
beginning its nasty feast

:

what I am
& what I’ll be

Every sentence I hear spoken—He’s in New York
for Christmas. We often
skied when Mom was pregnant. These boots
I’ve had them for years—
alone in the cold
make my legs weak. Only
one place left to go: See the crystals
blowing off branches like mist
the yellow sky through clouds
the untracked snow?