Tuesday, February 21, 2023


By late February, 
when winter 
is a thin and haggard ghost,

and streets are clogged 
with slow-going cars and

commuters going 
through their weary motions—

even the chalkwhite, 
supposedly empty 

treasure trove of 
bracing-cold sky is 
not so—even the notion, 

say, of barrenness,
or vacancy 

is choked 
with the desiccated 
caws of old crows, 

which ricochet
off surfaces too
salt-caked for snow, 

driving me further 
and further away

from recalling 
some sentimental snatch 
of a poem.