Running Off to Join the Circus

Where do words winter?
Yeats had a circus train of them.
Probably rode with animals
as far as Sarasota,
took his evenings
in stride walking
long white beaches
clear to Clearwater.

My words seem to gather
in puddles flecked with ice,
covered by gray snow,
frozen on the tongue.

How can I not
be dumb?
My only hope
is to become a mime.

**

“Lady of Spain, I Adore You”
—for Linda

I live in an igloo,
I want to say
to the census taker,
the postman,
the police,
the priest,
anyone who wants
to know
how I can be reached.

I believe
we live in an igloo
and have enough love
to keep

warm,
and sometimes
get hot
without need
of anything

more.

Winter Nudge

Gray light, leaky roof,
teeth missing, and
rusted
thinking.

**

Before or After Christmas

Listening to songs last heard
as a boy, I feel how rhythm breaks
into my middle age.

In the silence after
I wonder about other possibilities—
A universe where I was without fault,
without pain where I injured
no one and felt no blame.

If only youth kept its promise.
If every season held hope.