Spry arctic
wind—I just can't
believe you
cartwheeling down
the grey-
purple avenues—
so skinny
and blue and blisteringly
free—while the dismal crowds
make themselves
fatter
and slower in streets
despairing! even as they
trawl on—continuing
to circulate
rumors of your
ongoing
fitness and popularity—
and none
among them
daring enough
to articulate their hunger-
ing hooded
secret whispers
of far-
away—or nearly
impossible
things—like red peaches.
