without faces
soul-less villages
forgotten time
without faces
soul-less villages
forgotten time
surprised again
at darkness—that something so
blunt can wound
when I return to
abandoned tasks—prickly grass
in a shorn field
you travel one way
and I against you, asking
who’s stubborn
gusts prod
a cheeseburger wrapper
to stagger home
a few flakes
always flying—enough to
mark space
into this
momentary lull—
heart’s tempo
confusing
the garbage truck’s swallow
as thunder
knowing as I do
steam means habitation—
my warmth spreads to all
calming nausea
to calculate the cost
of calculating