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All Afternoon
we read Lorca
by five snow
blurred the
glass. February. I
leaned against
those chill panes.
Gypsies
burned through the
snow with apples
You in the
other room
I was thinking
don't let
this be some
warmth I can
move near
and never know
White Trees in the Distance
a white wind of
petals, maybe snow.
The longest I've
been so close to
you on the sheet
of paper. Like your
death, these poems
about you, a wild
surprise. The last
page in the note
book, still I think
I'll need another
notebook before I
can let you go
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