there is no winter in the damages
one plays in comfortable surroundings
I love you for example
when morning
the dewbirds rain away
and then a fabled innocence
replays the dark as if and everafter
there will be a tiny oval sun
crayoned yellow to exceed
the expectations of a Monday left alone
to tithe and render an informal
latitude on seasoned expectations
I always harbor you
I look at thick glass and I memorize
"not this" where "this" might have been
and I return to laboratory mention
of the negative I brought to life
I study that
I temper what I feel by looking hard
and then looking away
momentary madness lives upon the brink
of free time where the limber overlay
of moral brackets house one or another
thought
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