Wednesday, December 28, 2022


From the far-off 
gleam of jet planes
maneuvering around 

the snarling jigsaw 
of towers downtown,

to waking dream 
of each singular flake 

of fat December snow 
landing and mercifully 
blotting out the details  

on row after row 
of old granite headstones—

everywhere you look,
things keep proceeding 
on their own—as if

the music 
which first inspired 
the dance of our lives 

was concluded 
by the orchestra 
quite some time ago,

but someone out there 
vaguely still remembers 
how the words went: 

there's nothing 
you can say;

and nothing's 
out of bounds;

and nothing 
ever has to
be a certain way.