She the cat swarms about my ankles, affectionate & sexual

saying goodnight Closing the bedroom window to the night

The rails of this banister are like my life; but listen

I lean forward to pet the cat and tip over

Cleaning out a final drawer; my winter chores are done

Sorting through old socks; now my winter chores are done

Three we sit together, sharing solitude, practicing patience

My headless bathrobe faces the wall

Hairy baby I cup my lukewarm breast, I

He the cat kneads prick pricking my belly ow

Bed is just bed, and I am just I, lying in it

She the cat begging tiny teeth opening pink tongue lashing

A neighbor's window lights.  Dying day; and it's still winter

What's this new knuckle on my knuckle?  Oh arthritis

Picking up my dirty socks, I'm throwing them into a basket

At the snowy window, still & again, birds coming to feed

Right now, hands folded, I'm looking at my thumbs

Far away I hear a whistling sound

Spring beckons – icicles cry yourselves away

Under mauve-colored clouds empty branches filigreed with impatient buds

I scratch my elbow and wait – that timeless time of evening

The blinds were uneven; I corrected them

Playing gin rummy so long with the computer I'm winning

One long dead branch is all that's left:  it's snowing

Through my window other windows; in between, falling snow

Furred, the neighbor's roof, with snow – like an old man

The blank bed, freshly made, looks very still

I don't like that woman she keeps smiling that way

Half-asleep in the shower wet dream, another snowy morning

Did it give you pleasure, old man, sitting in your room alone

So many of us, I see you in weary bus stations, eyes closing

Two shovels, leaning up against my neighbor's house, half buried in snow

Sunlight on white – bright.  Bright

Why more snow? Why more snow? the birds sing and sing

Faces on my knuckles, puckering

At the bottom of the snowy sky this old man looking

Clouds reflected in a passing window I turn to see

That patch of snow on the neighbor's roof:  elephant/mouse

Bluely glows the evening sky, and the street the cement the snow

I'm watching a poem turn to ash

Bright sliver of a moon, cradled in the empty tree

Wiping an eyelash away, sheets crinkling, and my back, my toes

Small islands of half-dead grass; snowy crusts dusted with dirt

And were there birds?  I mean spring ones out in the cold

My spine twisting like an empty branch under a windowed sky

A guest can linger too long at the door, winter

Climbing the stairs, my old flanks waggling

A cup of tea bleh! gone cold

A cup of tea, grown cold

I'm housebound now, but soon . . .

It will be spring.  Spring will be, say the clouds

Outside my window, a chill wind scatters their laughter

~ END ~