12/7/19: Another Thought

something perfect

in a circle makes it hard

to leave

12/6/19: Eying His Oaks

now that all trees

are leafless—he can’t know which

won’t return

in an oblique ray

of weak winter light, you turn

just so

were the sea wine-

dark or dusk purpled, we might

never cease weeping

today’s art—

the other hand painting

in a blizzard

like the moon—without

a regular color, shape

or face

as if all the dawn

and dusk skies were themselves

litmus